Eternal and Immortal
by Mysteriouslyfatcat
Summary: This is my little work in progress, it's a series of one-shots with Rowan and Aelin because I'm absolutely in love with the two of them together. I'm hoping to add many more Rowaelin one-shots as time progresses. Any reviews are EXTREMELY helpful. Rated T, just 'cause I can.
1. Chapter 1

Rowan Whitethorn gazed affectionately at the note he held in his hands from way back then. Those years had been the best of his long, unending life. After that, he had seen battles come and go. He had seen the demons disappear during the night and he had seen how life cleans the old wounds. He had seen life move on without Aelin. But he never forgot her. And _his_ life would never move on without her.

Never would he forget the way she looked at him, the way she teased Aedion, and the way she gossiped with Lysandra. The way she overcame everything in her path... up until she simply vanished two years after regaining her throne. After that, Rowan was numb.

A simple note had been left for him. Nothing but a simple note that read:

 _You won't understand. For that, I apologize. Give 'em hell for me._

 _I will never forget you, even if I perish. I ask you for the same._

 _Never let your ember go out._

 _Aelin._

He still kept and worshipped that crumpling note after the years. It was tucked somewhere on his form, kept in the best conditions. It was one of the last pieces of Aelin that he could pull out to prove that someone like her, someone like his Fireheart, had existed once.

Another one of those last pieces stood in front of him, surrounded by the snow-covered evergreen trees of the forests of Terrasen. The headstone he stood in front of didn't include any dates, for Aelin was eternal. He had personally asked the grave marker to avoid the dates, for they didn't _really_ know if she was dead or not. She was just… missing. And Rowan had spent two centuries looking for her. Yet even he could not deny the fact that she was mortal. After all these years… she could not possibly be alive.

But what they had shared… that was immortal. That would never end. That would keep on running until eternity paused, and it would start sprinting after that.

Something on the back of the note caught his attention. He squinted a bit and held the note up into the light. How had he never noticed the scribbles on the back? It was Aelin's handwriting. It was in fae. _Well, she'd certainly been reading some translation book when she wrote this._ He chuckled a bit before reading the words aloud.

" _Excliem, carannam totem par hiyelh rosen dosehr."_ He frowned, recognizing the words. _Come, carannam. If I am worthy, come to me._ What did this mean? Were they nonsense? Or could they possibly…? No. Words alone could not bring her back. He stood still as a predator for a few more minutes; hands ready in case anything destructive should show itself. When nothing happened, Rowan's mind reeled back into the same disappointing state it had settled in since Aelin vanished. It was the state of complete and utter numbness.

He threw the note on the ground, knowing his actions to be childish. What had he been expecting? For her to pop up and suddenly _become_ alive again? He growled out of frustration and turned his back on Aelin's grave. He was pissed at the dead. A single tear cascaded down Rowan's cheek and littered the snow-covered ground. _Aelin. I need you. Again._ Another tear fell and the wind picked up.

Rowan's head jerked up. The phantom winds were not his doing. He tried to direct the winds, but they wouldn't listen to his magic. He yelled at them instead. He screamed at them to stop. How dare they? How dare they mock at this time? How _dare_ the winds mock him in front of Aelin's memorial? The wind continued to whirl around him.

 _What the rutting hell is going on?_ As if to answer his question, three voices chimed in the wind. They were so quiet that even his fae ears could only pick up snippets.

 _He is worthy._

 _We will give him a choice._

 _She told us to accept and grant him his wish._

 _It is our payment to her._

 _It is only fair._

 _It is only just we honor the deal._

The wind picked up again, stronger than before. It danced around him, completely wild and untamable. Suddenly, all the wind focused on one specific point directly above Aelin's memorial. Snow mixed in so it looked like a white circle that tore open to reveal a hellish world inside. He gaped at the phenomenon, not at all certain what was happening.

A person, a _female_ was spinning around, slashing and cutting her way through a demon's flesh. The demon was enormous. Two horns, one cut in half, leapt out of its forehead and its body was covered in little cracks that overflowed with what looked like magma. The demon's eyes were as deadly as the dual swords it carried in each hand, complete with a hilt decorated with what looked suspiciously like skeletons.

Rowan stood beyond the portal in his snowy world and simply watched the fiery realm. As if on que, the female noticed the hole and sprinted towards it. With one last look back, she cast _flames_ out of her palm that encircled the demon in a tight cocoon. Rowan heard the demon scream, a sound of pure pain and torture.

The woman was thrown out of the vortex and it closed behind her. She barreled directly into Rowan and hurled at him with such a speed that it knocked the air out of him and forced him on the ground. All he saw was a mess of blood and fire and blonde hair and a black assassin's suit.

Blonde hair.

Assasin's suit.

 _Fire_ magic.

"A-aelin?" Rowan choked out, wrapping his arms around his beacon. His beacon was _alive._ She was _breathing_. She was… absolutely and utterly _alive_. Bruises and scars marred her beautiful face, making her seem all the more fierce. She raised her eyes to his, those damn blue and gold eyes that had haunted him for the past centuries. The eyes that had replaced Lyria's screams.

"Rowan." She gripped his face in her hands and repeated his name, over and over again. She crashed her lips into his with such a passion that he momentarily forgot where he was. He rolled over so she was pinned beneath him. She lay there, scarred and grinning with that feral smile of hers, utterly wild and alive. She was with him; she was here with him.

"Took you long enough," Aelin quipped after they had lay in the snow for a few minutes, breathing each other in. She opened her mouth to no doubt make some other remark but was interrupted by a flash of teeth and his mouth on her neck. Her lifeblood thrummed with life, its beat faster than it had been in years. Rowan had waited too long to taste his Fireheart again. After she had disappeared…

He growled and nuzzled her neck.

"How? How _dare_ you leave me!" His words came out softer than he had intended. He wanted to scream and yell at her for leaving him and her court without a warning. But he found he couldn't. Rowan found that he couldn't be angry with someone that he had missed and needed for two centuries. Aelin simply grinned beneath him and gasped when he bit her neck again.

"It's a bit of a… complicated story. I just… I can't talk about it right now. " Rowan eyes softened when he looked into her eyes to see that she was far away from him in that moment. Wishing her worries away, he helping her up. Then, as they looked at each other with starved eyes, they had those secret conversations that he had so missed.

 _My, my, barely holding out without me I see, Prince. I don't whether to be flattered or disheartened at your lack of independence._

 _I will never let you out of my sight after this. It will be living hell for you for the rest of your life._

Aelin smiled and reached a hand out. Rowan grabbed it immediately, needing more physical contact to confirm that she was really here with him. He needed to know whether this was another damned dream where she would vanish. He let her pull him towards her and reach up to pull his head down.

" _Our_ lives. I'm not leaving you, and you certainly aren't going to leave me," she whispered into his ear. Rowan's arms tightened around Aelin.

"You already left me once, Fireheart. Don't make promises you can't keep." To this, Aelin gave a weak smile.

"Well, I suppose I'll have to tell you that that was Erawan's realm," Aelin whispered and leaned her head into his chest, her form small and shivering. "And in Erawan's realm, humanity is burned away." Rowan's arms went slack.

"Immortality?" He asked in a weak voice. _Immortal._ Aelin nodded. She would be by his side, forever. He reached up to trace the tip of the elongated elven ears of her fae form. Her _only_ form.

 _It's a long story._

 _I can tell. You're going to have some explaining to do, Fireheart. Later._

Rowan sagged against his beacon, his ember, and lost himself in her smell and her feel. It was like breathing fresh air after weeks in a stuffy room. It was like coming home.

"Come." Rowans stepped away from her; watching her step forward and her gasp at a pain in her leg. At his questioning glare, she shook her head and held a hand up, as if asking for a pause. He moved to pick her up, her body lighter than it had been two centuries ago.

"I had to fight the demon king for a very long time. He got a few good kicks and punches in," Aelin whispered and buried her head in his chest. Her honey hair hung down to her mid back, it had grown far longer than when he'd last seen her. "That was the reason I had to go. Mala came to me during the night and told me that the only way to secure a future for this world was to block off the demon king. I had to be locked with him in eternal battle so he would not think to rise up again. Mala presented me with a deal," she sighed and he could feel her take a deep breath and smell his scent, "You would've said no… You would've stopped me. I had to go. We've been sparring with each other ever since that first day. I'm so tired, Rowan. That _thing_ was inhuman and he was cruel and he would weasel his way into my head and he would find the most _horrible_ things…" Aelin shuddered and Rowan felt rage outline his vision. He would _kill_ Mala for putting her through that hell. Aelin had lifted burdens that were far too heavy for her.

Rowan held onto Aelin as he ran through the woods to the lodge he had claimed as his home for the past years. The only people to ever come visit him had been Aedion and Lysandra, but the last time either of them had stopped by to check on him had been far longer than he cared to admit. Gavriel had come to visit him once, yet then left him alone after comprehending just how shattered Rowan had been.

They passed frozen lakes and snow-covered trees. Everything was white and pure. Everything glimmered, as if the light shone on them. Rowan supposed that was true, considering the radiance he held in his arms. His radiance had now closed her eyes and was currently breathing in his scent. Though he felt Aelin on _carranam_ level _,_ he couldn't find that soul joining blood oath anywhere since the day she had wandered off to fight the demon king himself.

"But I felt the bond break." She nodded and settled back into silence for a few minutes, as if finding the right words.

"When I entered Erawan's realm, all my connections with this world were lost. I put the note somewhere you would find it, and every second of every minute, I hoped that you would read it and would free me from that literal Hell."

He let out a loose, ragged breath into her hair that might as well have been a sob. Aelin let out a snore and Rowan chuckled. She deserved to sleep.

Lyria stood behind Rowan, going unnoticed by him. She smiled faintly as she put a hand to her stomach and blessed the couple, fading into nothing more than a phantom wind.

 _Six days later_

Rowan watched her peaceful form sleep; still not quite believing that she was here, in front of him. It seemed a lifetime ago they had been in this very position, him impatiently waiting for her to wake up after she had performed some crazy stunt.

Rowan sat back in the chair by the fireplace and glared at Aelin. How foolish of her to simply run off. How could she not have asked him if he would take her place? He would gladly fight the demon king for the rest of his immortal days if it kept Aelin safe. He would willingly shoulder the world for her.

And… _Immortal._ Every part of him growled in pleasure. Erawan's realm had burned all of the humanity out of her, only her fae part had survived the torture. It was likely that she would no longer be able to shift into her human form. She would stay in her fae form until the end of eternity, with Rowan at her side. Forever.

Aelin yawned and sat up in the bed, stretching her arms out and looking at Rowan expectantly with a small smile on her lips. He nearly jumped out of his chair and glided towards her. He pushed her back down on the mattress and she glared at him. He smiled back.

 _I am fine._

 _You are spent. And incredibly dirty. And you smell like smoke and ash and a billion other things to do with Erawan's realm._

 _Fitting, considering I was_ in _Erawan's realm._

Rowan and lifted her up and carried her off to the bathing room. He had undressed her as soon as he had entered the lodge and had surveyed her body for any injuries. He had healed them the best he could, though when the cuts had closed and her leg had mended the scars refused to disappear. Rowan doubted that Aelin would care, though.

He set her down in the bathtub and she warmed the water in a matter of seconds. T seemed her magic was in no dire state. He pulled a stool up to the bathtub and encouraged Aelin to lean back against the bathtub. She smiled and leaned her head back against the tub so Rowan could wash her hair. His gruff hands made quick work of it.

"I'm relieved that you hadn't forgotten me," she murmured as he massaged her scalp. Rowan growled and she tensed ever so slightly.

"I could never forget you, Fireheart. Never in any of my years could I forget someone like you. I would never forget my _carranam_ and the second queen I swore a blood oath to. Speaking of which," Rowan said as he held up his wrist. She looked at him with astonished eyes, her breath coming fast and short.

 _No._

 _Aelin-_

 _No, Rowan. You have freedom now. You've had freedom now for years. I can't take that away from you again. I'm not even a queen anymore. You'd be binding yourself to a single person, not a future kingdom that could actually amount to something._

 _When I took the blood oath, I wasn't aiming to aid a kingdom. I was aiming to help you._

Aelin closed her eyes and sighed. Quietly, Rowan stood up and walked to the kitchen and back, carrying a small hunting knife.

"Do you remember what I said to you all those years ago? What you said to me? _I claim you, to whatever end."_ Aelin half-smiled and reached out a hand for the hunting knife.

"You know, I'm getting quite tired of you using my words to get what you want," she grumbled. Rowan laughed and waited for her to commence in the blood oath. She looked at him again, running her eyes over him. It seemed her assassin's eyes had not faltered in any sense. She sighed loudly and rolled her eyes.

"Well, I suppose. But I'm not doing it naked. That would be too awkward of a story to explain to those who ask." She stood up, scars and all, and accepted Rowan's help with drying. When he had finished, he fished one of his white cotton shirts out of the closet and offered it to her. She laughed and tugged it on. It came down to right below her mid thighs. She seemed skinnier and paler, her hair a bit thinner and her eyes more wasted. She noticed him assessing her state of appearance and she erased her smile and cast her eyes downwards.

Rowan moved over to her and lifted her chin.

"It's been…," she faltered and her eyes met his. He understood. She couldn't find a word for what she had been through because there _was_ no word to summarize whatever shit she'd been forced to endure. He nodded and lowered his brow to hers.

Just the feeling of her, _alive_ , was enough to make him leap with joy. He felt the corners of Aelin's mouth move upwards and she removed her head from his.

He had only dreamed of this moment, a moment where all his loyalties would be reestablished. His honor would be restored and his wishes would be fulfilled. He needed to protect her; he needed to lay down his life for her. He needed to be at her mercy once again.

"Rowan Whitethorn," she smilingly chastised and repeated the same words as last time. She remembered every damn word of it. It was as if she held the moment in her heart, just as he did. "Do you promise to serve in my court, Rowan Whitethorn, from now until the day you die?"

"I do. Until my last breath, and the world beyond. To whatever end." Aelin sliced her wrist open, much deeper than last time, as if the deeper the cut, the deeper the bond. He lowered his head and sucked on the wound thrice before looking up to meet Aelin's eyes. For a moment, light snapped in his eyes and he smiled at the refreshed bond that had settled into place. They were lined with silver as she gave him a watery smile.

"I love you Rowan." The words came so quickly and so suddenly, even Aelin looked shocked at her sudden outburst. Her breathing shortened again and she gazed at him longingly with her Ashryver eyes. Rowan lifted his hand to her cheek and lowered his mouth to hers.

"I love you, Aelin. Until the end of eternity, and far further than that."


	2. Chapter 2

**Newly arrived in Terrasen, Aelin thought she could cope with the past. Right up until she saw the dried blood.**

 **And because every other fanfiction does this, I'm pretty sure I have to say that all characters belong to our lady and savior, Sarah J. Maas.**

 **Thanks so much to the reviewers who reviewed the last chapter, loving the support!**

 **To whoever reviewed the story idea (sorry, my computer's acting weird and it won't show me the reviews or who reviewed it, but my phone gets all the updates):** _ **Great**_ **idea! I can definatly work on that, but it may be a while before I can get it out. (I'll try to find a way for Dorian to be alive. I have some ideas running around in my head. We all love Dorian. No guarantees though). Until then, I hope to appease you all by adding more one-shots.**

The manor was overgrown with wildlife. It teemed with plants of all types native to Terrasen. Trees roped themselves around the house, the bush so thick that she had to cut through them with one of her spare swords. She would _never_ insult Damaris or Goldryn by using them to cut plants like the average machete. They were far more precious than that. Aelin continued through the unkempt house and hovered right before the kitchen doorway. It was a simple wooden door decorated with small wooden carvings in the shape of swirls. It was a door she had walked through many times, often to steal some chocolate cake after dinner.

Aelin wiped her eyes. She would not cry. She had accepted her mistakes from the past, right?

She had stolen away from their camp two days away from Orynth to come here, to the manor where everything had gone wrong. She had reasoned with herself that she had simply needed some closure after what had happened in the spring. No matter what she told herself about closure and whatnot, she couldn't find it within herself to turn the doorknob. She couldn't do it. She wasn't strong enough to take _one_ step into that kitchen. Aelin sighed and quickly wiped her eyes with her fingers again. _Nothing but a coward,_ she thought and smiled bitterly. How ironic that she was so scared of the scene that lay beyond the door, so scared when _she_ had created scenes such as that. Had little children been ushered away by nursemaids when they had heard _her_ clopping up on a horse? Most likely. They had most likely watched the assassination and become a monster because of her.

Aelin crashed down onto the rotting wood of the floor, sat crisscross, and stared at the kitchen door. It was a barrier between her and the nightmare. She felt like a child that hid under the bed when storms thundered and the sky lit up.

She had snuck out of the camp when everything had fallen silent and her travelling companions' breathing had regulated. Rowan hadn't even stirred when she had disentangled herself from the sleeping roll beside him and stalked off into the woods. She supposed it was a compliment to her sneak ability, though honestly she suspected he'd find her soon. He was probably up and searching for her right now in his hawk form.

 _Probably worried sick like a motherly hen because I snuck out after bedtime._

Aelin snorted and heaved herself up with a grunt. She was a _queen._ And not just any queen, _the_ Queen of Terrasen. And she would not be afraid. Aelin reached for the door handle. She turned it and beheld the scene inside.

It looked like a historical slaughter fest. Blood had dried on the walls, creating a diverse and painful dotted pattern that centered on one focal point. And there. There, strewn over the floor like some prized display, lay the skeleton of Lady Marion. The skull lay a few feet away from the body, surrounded by a dried pool of crusted, brown blood.

Aelin, Queen of Terrasen, sank down to her knees and stared blankly at the divided bones of her nursemaid. And she stayed there.

The sun had nearly risen when the sound of wings flapping near the entrance of the manor met Aelin's ears. She didn't acknowledge the flash of light that followed it, nor the quiet footsteps that padded up behind her and halted.

No, her mind was centered on the atrocity that lay before her.

It was foolish to blame herself. She had been a child, albeit a demi-fae with fire magic, and a child who had lived an extravagant life could not have withstood the force of a grown man. If he'd even been a man.

And even though she knew she was a fool, some small, irritating, traitorous little part of her heart still held Aelin responsible for what had happened that night in the very manor that had now brought her to her knees.

"Aelin," Rowan whispered. It wasn't a question, it wasn't a plea for her to come back, or a command to face the truth. It was a reassurance. It was so she knew that he was there for her, as always.

He moved to sit beside her, but she held up her hand and tried to swim out of the riptide that had caught a hold of her.

"I just… I had to see," she said and stood up. Rowan shifted closer to her and caught hold of her hand. He didn't ask her questions, but she could nearly _feel_ his curiosity flow through the air around her. It was layered with numerous feelings of pity and odium. Not directed at her, but more so of the sight of Lady Marion. It was pity at the sight of her severed skeleton, and odium at the thought of how someone could've done this to get to a child.

She herself was split. If it had been a demon, or a man acting out of misplaced loyalty for the king of Adarlan, then she loathed the man who had clopped up on horseback. But if it had been a hired killer… Well, assassins didn't ask sentimental questions. She knew this all too well. It might as well have been her. A scene flashed before her eyes, obscuring the skeleton. A crying child and the child's parents, begging. Not for themselves, but for their sole heir. They were begging _her_ to let their seven-year-old son survive. The contract Arobynn had given her had stated that she had to kill _all_ family members…

A shudder ran through her and Rowan's grip tightened on her hand. She had not forgiven herself for the monster she had been. She had only forgiven herself for turning into it.

"Fireheart…" Rowan whispered, trying to break through to her. All she could see was her blade plunging into the mother's throat as the son and father had watched… She'd ended it quickly for the father and child… Not out of pity, but at the disgust in their eyes… She had not been able to take it…

"Aelin!" She blinked at the sound and the movement of Rowan gripping her shoulders and shaking her. Rowan's pine green eyes bore into hers and his silver hair gleamed in the rising sun. Her head drooped down and hit his upper chest.

"Together, Fireheart. Remember," he murmured into her hair. She nodded in understanding and clasped his hand, tugging him out of the deteriorating manor. She had to get away from the kitchen.

Each step away from the building held some invisible hold on her sanity. The walls in the manor had been suffocating, even though the rooms were quite large. She had never liked small spaces. Past experiences with cages and sewers swayed her already nonexistent optimistic view on them.

She led Rowan to a trail that cut through the forest, a trail she had walked on many times with her father and mother in the summer when everything and everyone was carefree and light, so unfamiliar with the horrors that were to take place in the years to come. As they walked through the pines, she could've sworn she saw little eyes watching them through the branches of the trees and heard the occasional rustling of shrubs. Rowan seemed unaffected by the sounds and sights and continued to relent to being pulled through the forest to some unknown destination. They walked for about fifteen minutes on the trail to the destination that had taken her seemingly forever to run to. They were both silent throughout the hike.

And it was silence that found her when Rowan reached towards one of the branches on a tree beside them and tugged a faded cloth off the tree that looked as though it had been ripped straight off the wearer. His knuckles were unnecessarily white as he clutched the cloth and looked straight at her.

"It smells of you," he said carefully. Aelin nodded and mutely watched as he took a few steps forward towards another tree with particularly sharp branches and found a ripped cloth in that one as well. They continued down the trail to the river and both of them noticed the numerous pieces of that shredded nightgown in numerous trees. It was strange to think that, even after ten years, the forest still had signs of that night, signs of her. It confirmed that what had happened had indeed happened. That everyone had been murdered and was gone.

All the while, Rowan looked as if he was about to murder every single branch for scratching her. It was a balm to her heart, to know that someone in the world cared for her. It was a blessing to have him as her _carranam_. He was her gift from the gods, despite him being a territorial fae bastard.

They came to a stop at the cut rope bridge. She sat down between the posts, dangling her legs over the cliff as the nostalgic river breeze swept up to blow at her hair. Though she had nearly drowned in the River Florine, she had always loved the river and had often picnicked beside it with her family and Aedion in the summers. She gave Rowan a grateful look and patted the spot beside her. He conceded and dropped down beside her, weaving his arms around her shoulders. She leaned her head against him and nodded her head for him to commence.

'Why?' was the first, logical question. Why? Why had she gone to the source of her collapse? Because she thought it would bring her closure. Her gut had drawn her to the place. She had some misplaced trust in her gut, apparently. She looked at him then, and saw the words written in eyes.

 _I would've gone with you, if you'd asked me to._

 _Well, you did turn up eventually._

He glared at her and turned to face the other side of the ravine, where the rope bridge hung like a ladder down to the river.

"When will you start realizing that your court is here to help you?"

"My _court_ is here to help defeat the demon king and afterwards help rule a kingdom. _You_ are here to help _me_. You are my _carannam_ for a reason."

"I can't help you if you decide to sneak off in the middle of the night without alerting anyone or at least taking someone with you so the forest or something in the forest doesn't attack you." She huffed and didn't reply, for he knew what her response was to every statement concerning her safety. He would just never listen.

"And I should add that the _carranam_ bond flows both ways, Princess."

The burning within her had quieted with his words, but she couldn't forget Lady Marion. They sat quietly for a few more minutes and watched the river that had swept her away flow fast and strong between rocks and fallen debris. It was a while before he spoke again.

"Aelin, it's never a good idea to go back to the site of a nightmare. I speak from experience from… from when I found Lyria. You should have told me, maybe even Aedion, that we were nearing this place. If he weren't so mesmerized by Lysandra, he would've noticed that we were close to the manor." He tilted her chin up with his thumb and looked into her eyes as she lay her thoughts out for him to pick up at any time. When he lowered his thumb, he pulled her close and whispered into her ear.

"We do what we must to survive. We've both seen death and caused death, whether it's for others or ourselves. But _you've_ shown me that to dwell on the past is to not move on. We're nearly at the top of the abyss, Aelin."

She sat there with him, drinking in the sight of the river from the top of the ravine.

 _Nearly there._

A phantom wind embraced her and she rested her head on Rowan's shoulder, thankful to have him to help her climb out of the abyss.


	3. Chapter 3

She sat in the tub, curling herself both on the inside and outside. All that was left of her was a sad, whimpering form that occasionally splashed in the water. Everyone had left the bathing room and she was alone in her own hell. The water had warmed up again, despite her wishing it. It lay just below scorching.

Aelin sat in the tub; she felt completely attuned to the world around her, despite her closed eyes. She flinched at every skitter of feet and every crack of the stone. The world around her whispered with tidings of the old and the new. It was such a strange yet calming thing to hear it murmur. How had she never recognized the power of her first form?

She breathed deeply, inhaling the scent of her nearly roasted skin. If Rowan hadn't been there to stop her, to cut her air, her fuel, off… though the consideration of what could've happened hurt and cut, it was nothing compared to the bizarre anger she felt at the thought of someone saving her useless, burning hide. Again. She sighed loudly, her breath seemingly cold against her skin.

For everything she'd done, all the people she'd betrayed and killed, all those she left behind, Aelin felt as though she deserved whatever pain came her way. It was an immoral way to punish oneself, to accept every beating that came.

Her eyes opened.

She _accepted_ the pain. That was how Endovier had failed to break her. All those slaves, all _her_ people, they were all innocents. They didn't deserve the whips that slashed into their back or the hours spent mining for the rich; Aelin _did_. She had sinned, that was her punishment. _This_ was her punishment. She dragged her hand out of the water and ran it across her protuberant spine and the ridges and crusts of the scars that crossed her back.

She rested her forehead on her knees and began to hum an old sailor's tune she had learnt on the way to Wendlyn. Gods, it felt like ages since she had docked. And during those "ages", she had changed and smelted into another person, someone not entirely… _there._ The heat that flitted across her skin established the transformation. Her fingers floated up to her mouth where she touched her elongated fangs, and then the ears…

A door opened with a creak and someone stepped into the room. Aelin pulled back from her curled position and slammed onto the back of the tub. The impact throbbed but she held her wince. She looked up to meet Rowan's eyes.

Eyes that were already wide with shock. His rugged face had frozen like his ice; his pine green eyes were fixed on her chest, though she knew he wasn't looking at her breasts. He was staring straight through her. It was as if all he could see was her back. His eyes rose again to meet hers.

 _How?_

That single word painted in Rowan's eyes was enough to make her look away. She wouldn't let him see the answer cut into her, a wound in itself. Instead, she stood up and, still refusing to meet his eyes, reached for a towel to wrap around herself. She quickly dried herself under his gaze and tugged on some oversized clothes someone had brought in.

Aelin tried to shoulder her way past him, but he reached out and took ahold of her shoulders. She turned her head as to not look at him, though she couldn't fight against the gentle hand that gripped her chin and turned her chin.

 _How?_

She tried to turn her head again but he held fast.

"Endovier," Aelin said in a quiet, almost imperceptible voice. "I spent a year there." Rowan blinked and dropped his head to her shoulder.

"That day… the day I threatened to _whip_ you. I…" Aelin shook my head and pushed herself away from him. He jerked his head up and she saw the one thing she dared to hate in this wretched, unforgiving world.

"I don't deserve or need your _pity_ ," she said in a stronger, colder voice than before. "I deserved what I got. Don't waste your time, Rowan." Her eye twitched as she wrenched open the door and lurked down the hallway to her room, Rowan close on her heels.

How many times had she felt others' pity? She had seen the glances in the hallway of the castle from ladies and lords. She remembered Wesley's eyes. She remembered _Sam's_ eyes when Arobynn had beaten her. And she remembered a room with a handmaiden in it. A roaring fire, a warm blanket, and an embrace. The pity in _her_ eyes, in Lady- _No_. She wouldn't think about that, lest the chest she had locked the memory into break open.

She made to slam the door in Rowan's face but her movements were slow and waning. He pushed it open with a slight shove that would've sent her tumbling down to the floor had he not caught her and swept her up in his arms.

She could still feel the _pity._ It was ugly and disgusting and took on too many forms.

"Aelin," Rowan whispered. She tried to protest, yet she found she didn't have the strength. Rowan quickly strode down the hall, away from her much needed bed, and up a few stairs until he put her down on a soft mattress and closed the door behind him. She closed her eyes and moaned softly, turning over to lay on her side. It had been too long since she'd last laid on a mattress as comfortable as this one.

Rowan trudged over and sat on the edge of the bed, still staring at her.

"Aelin," he repeated, and placed a hand on her ribcage. She looked up at him, at his silver hair and those green eyes. He smelled of pine and snow. She inhaled his scent before giving up and turning over onto her stomach. She grumbled about his stubbornness before falling back into the seductive grip of relaxation. He rolled her shirt up and ran his hands over the scars. She was far too aware of every touch. It seemed too intimate, too much, for him to do this.

"This one." She turned her head and looked up at him as he placed a palm on her lengthiest and deepest scar.

"This one was infected." She nodded and buried her head back into the pillows.

"Several of them have been infected more than once. That one just looks it." Her voice was muffled through the soft fabric. Rowan traced each scar with his finger, seemingly entranced by her collection of cuts and bruises. His touch was enlivening and calming at the same time. She would have fallen asleep like that, if it wasn't for his gentle questions. She answered nearly all of them with hard-hearted, unfeeling emotion until she looked up at him again.

 _I don't want your pity._ He seemed taken aback at the message yet continued to follow the scars.

 _Pity? These people… these people have marred your skin._ A growl was working up as his eyes blazed. She twisted so she lay on her back and looked up at him with a bare stomach.

 _Territorial fae bastard._

He would kill them. He would find each one of the men who had _whipped_ her and he would break them. Just as they'd tried to break her. He had heard from passing merchants and sailors of what went on in the slave camps. Everyone knew about the mining, and everyone sympathized about the whips, but did they know of the darkness they were forced into for days without nourishment? Did they now of the men, the men of the king, who raped and tortured? She had been in that hellhole for a whole year; the strongest usually lasted a few months.

He had threatened her with a whip, that day early on. _Gods._

And still she refused to accept any pity, any sorrow for what had happened with her absurd notion of having deserved it. From the clipped answers he had received, he had learned that she had been such a threat to her former master that he had tried to lock her up until he needed her again; a hound caged hound. Then she'd given an opening by the prince and the man she'd thought she'd loved. Whom she thought loved her. It was a lethal game of deadlock.

He looked at her just then, looked at her drowsy eyes and her bare stomach. He gazed at her mouth, where he could _just_ see her sharp fangs. She was vulnerable and completely _insane._ She had nearly just burned out and yet she still refused to accept any compensation.

Aelin squinted up at him, clearly disorientated.

"Rowan?" She whispered and gazed up at him. She searched his eyes for a sign of what he was thinking, but she must have been too tired because she gave up quickly. She lifted a palm to her forehead and lolled her head back.

"Oh gods, the room is spinning," she groaned. Her eyes closed and she seemed to sink down into the mattress. He sat there and stared at her for a few minutes.

Rowan acted on impulse, and impulse alone. He reached down to cup her cheek and brought his face closer to hers. He could feel her leveled breath tingle on his skin. Her fire was still there. It was a diminished form, but he could still feel it.

Her inner fire created an ambiance around her, singeing those who dared cross her and warming cold allies. She thawed the frozen. It was fire that still danced around in his veins after he had bit her, after he had tasted her fire. And it was her fire that made him lean down and, softly, as not to wake her, kiss her. It was gentle and sweet, and she was fast asleep.

He tumbled down beside her and stared up at the ceiling. He felt her slumbering form roll over and curl up against him, her head rested on his chest. He looked down to see her smiling the tiniest bit.

He could see a fragment of light at the top of the abyss, a light that he had so yearned for in the past years. It thawed him, and he swore he heard ice fracturing.


	4. Chapter 4

**Sorry for not posting for so long, tests and all those other shameful excuses. My posting will be patchy over the next (July 2016) month (in other words, nonexistent). Vacation and all that jazz.**

She tensed, baring her teeth as the male in front of her merely grinned cockily.

"Ready to admit defeat, Princess?" He taunted as he lolled his neck from one side to the other.

The arrogant bastard. She would knock his teeth from his mouth and bash the stick into his head. He had thrashed and struck her all morning, and she had the worst feeling that this was child's play for him. She supposed it should be, what with her being the 'naïve _girl'_ and all.

He had been training her for weeks now and seemed to be more… yielding in terms of her emotions, just as she tried to be for him. They had an unspoken bond where they tried _not_ to piss each other off _too_ much; however there was the _occasional_ slip up and the _occasional_ use of the words bastard and prick and asshole. It was a fragile connection, to say the least.

She wasn't used to his way of training, all of his offensive and defensive moves he had collected over a million lifetimes. He was brilliantly brutal in a way that only the fiercest warriors could possibly be. She was bruised and battered and bleeding all over. The gods only knew what else she suffered from. She would never admit defeat, not to save her own life. And especially never to _him_.

And he had never specified that one could not _not_ play with the sticks.

She lunged for him, taking by surprise as she smacked her stick in half and twirled around him. He went to take her legs out from under her but she jumped and whacked him on his eye with one stick and deftly swung at his leg with the other. It created a long but shallow scratch that cut through his pants. He growled at her and pounced on her so she smacked into the ground. She groaned on impact. He took the opening to pin her down with the weight of his body. But she wasn't done yet. She curled her legs and heaved him away, and then they were up on their feet again, crouching, circling, striking at each other. He was so much stronger and so much more attuned to his surroundings then she. And it was that that made her weak in his eyes.

She was not weak. Or feeble. Or tired.

Their sticks lay somewhere, but they never broke eye contact to get them. He made to hit her on the ribs but she danced away from him and jumped on him. He staggered and they fell onto the ground until _she_ pinned _him_ on the ground. She sat up, still straddling him, and smiled wickedly through her huffs of air.

"You admit defeat," she puffed out and poked his chest accusingly. Rowan snarled. He looked extremely pissed off until his pine green eyes lit up and he rolled until he, once again, had her trapped under his weight.

"Never," Rowan whispered in to her ear. She groaned and lolled her head back. He stood up and offered her a hand. She glared at it.

 _I'm not going to bite._

 _No, apparently you've had your fill of me._

He grinned, most likely remember the compromising position he had put her in only weeks ago. She had transformed, yes, but he had _bit_ her.

"I've told you before; you do not bite the woman of another man." She glared at him and absent-mindedly rubbed the empty space where Chaol's ring had been. She had left it in her room this morning, in the small bag underneath the bed where all her other valuables were kept. The ring was the only item in the bag. It was a bit pathetic, though Rowan still possessed her daggers.

Celaena looked the other way for a moment, in another place, at another time. A rooftop garden, then the room… No, _no._ Chaol had betrayed her, he had _broken_ her. _Bad Celaena,_ she chastised herself.

"Caring makes you weak, Aelin," Rowan said in such a disciplined, domesticated tone. Broken by a faery queen. She turned to face him.

 _Don't look at me with that_ disgust _._

 _You should've gotten used to it by now._

She was disgusted. Not by him, but by a bond that forced men to their knees, a bond that forced men to stop feeling. And the faery queen that offered it to him. Total submission.

Rowan growled and stepped up close to her, as if to intimidate her. She didn't back down. Instead, she glared daggers into those pine green eyes and breathed in his pine and snow scent.

"Submission? Am I submissive?" He snarled, his nostrils flaring.

"How did you-"

"Your expression lacks proper defenses."

"I don't-"

"Submissive, really? Shall we talk about your _years_ of service to a man when you had the proper tools to dispose of him? Or should we mention how you cowered at a king's feet and carried out his dirty works? Perhaps you should look at yourself before you judge another soul, _Aelin_."

It was that name, that _jab_ that tore at her mental barriers. She wasn't _submissive._ She fought with tooth and nail at every corner, except… except in Endovier. Where she had stopped caring.

Something in her flickered and dimmed. She took a step back from Rowan, mentally reaching out at anything, _anything,_ to show that he was wrong. Trying to keep her footing so she wouldn't tumble head first into that dark, dark abyss. _Submissive._

 _Coward._

Were they the same thing? She took another step back, and then looked up at Rowan with her Ashryver eyes. She tried to pierce with the same glare he had impaled her with, yet her attempt failed. She flung herself at him.

" _I am not a coward_!" she screamed at him. Something in the back of her mind told her that he hadn't called her that, but it didn't matter. The lines blurred and crisscrossed, one thing became another.

She punched him once and jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. He seemed resigned to accept it but when he got a good look at her face he began to resist. Rowan hurled her off him so she hit a tree. Her back made a cracking sound and she slumped onto the dirt. That cracking sound… it was too much like a whip.

She was crying slightly, not from pain but from the sudden realization that her barriers had far too many holes in them. She tried to get up but her body protested.

"Aelin," Rowan hissed through his teeth and knelt down beside her. Fear ran wild in his eyes, and for a moment, it seemed as if he actually cared. "Don't move." He had tossed her like a stuffed animal.

"I need to see your back," he said through gritted teeth.

"No," she just managed to whisper. "Don't-" Blackness swelled in her eyes and the world faded as the abyss crawled up to grab her.

She woke up to a roaring fire and an aching back as Rowan stared at her from a chair beside the bed. _His_ bed, she realized when she groggily took in the surroundings. She was dressed in a simple giant white shirt and her clothing was stacked neatly in another corner. She turned her head, ignoring the slice of pain that cut down her form.

Rowan watched her with wary eyes. And then she knew. She knew why those eyes were filled with caution. How else had he healed her back? She cleared her throat.

"Well?" She demanded. He simply stared at her.

"Was… was that why he left you?" he asked attentively, as if a single wrong word would break her. She almost snorted. The mere idea that she was so _base_ as to _break_ from a question… but she had. She had nearly cracked under the pressure of Rowan's questions. And he had _thrown_ her against a tree. A sudden weight of panic made her breath speed up. That cracking noise…

 _Shit._

Rowan reached forth and gripped her arm.

"Breathe, Aelin. You're okay, you're fine," Rowan's tone softened immensely, so different from the commandeering ass he was usually. She focused on pushing that air in and out, Rowan's wind helping her. She focused on him again, on those pine green eyes. They were nearly drowning in guilt.

 _What?_

 _You._

"Me?" She asked. He swallowed nervously and looked at her head on.

"I've never lied to you, and you've never lied to me. We tell truths."

You scared me, when you jumped. Your eyes were… not of this world. I've seen many things in my years, but you… when you screamed, it was full of utter pain and guilt and it took me by surprise. I reacted with instinct; I knew you were out for blood. You hit the tree and your spine cracked in two. I… that was the first time after… after Lyria that panic ensued. I thought if you were hurt, it was my fault. And then, well," he gestured at her, a sign that he had seen the wreck on her back. "Then I saw that slab of flesh you call skin." He grimaced and she looked away, but he turned her chin.

"I apologize, for before. I… I _threatened_ you that day with a _whip_ of all things. And then you spoke of your lover and the emotions rushed forth." Rowan bowed his head. She considered his silvery white hair and spoke quietly.

"He didn't leave me because of _this_ ," she sat up and made a face at the pain that ran down her back. He lifted his head again.

"May I?" his hands shook, and she took a hold of them.

"You did what you had to do. And… you didn't know. I don't want that pathetic pity. I spent months in a castle full of pitiful servants and lords. I don't need you being all sentimental." She twisted and lifted the back of the shirt. Some wonderful soul had at least graced her with basic undergarments. She heard Rowan's intake of breath as he surveyed the damage. He paused a moment before put a calloused hand on her back and tracing the scars.

"I've seen worse, but this is deliberate. This was made to look this way." She gave him a bitter laugh.

"They used to rub salt in the wounds, said it would teach me a lesson. To this day, I don't know what lesson this was supposed to clarify." She turned around again so she sat directly in front of him, her legs brushing his.

"You've seen worse?" She raised an eyebrow, a challenge within a question.

"I've been alive far longer than you have. I've seen men die and battlefields flood with blood. Do you really not think that I would've seen worse? I once met a man who called himself the Demon King's Dealer. He inscribed the name of every man he made a deal with on his skin."

"How old are you?"

"Old enough to know better, young enough to do it all again," His shoulders shook with a hearty laugh, and she found herself chuckling along with him. The mere notion that he would want to go through it all again was… laughable. When they quieted down, they settled into a comfortable silence with the fire crackling. The tiny smile in Rowan's face meant too much, too soon. He seemed… happy. Content, even. Far more than he had weeks ago.

Celaena took his hand and flipped it over, tracing the scars that decorated it. She traced a line that started between his middle finger and his ring finger and moved farther down towards his elbow. She had finally found a person outside of Endovier with more scars then she, both mentally and physically. It made her feel young; made her feel inadequate. Her life had been one big hellhole, and she prided herself on the fact that she believed that she knew what true pain was. Yet here was a man, a _fae_ , that had lived long enough, had been through enough, to want to hand over his very soul to another.

"Aelin," Rowan said, shaking her from her thoughts. He brushed a loose strand behind her ear. Their eyes met and she felt that strange sense of oneness once again. It was bizarre to comprehend. Rowan seemed to notice it too. His eyes widened just the tiniest bit, the only stray emotion let out from beneath his mask. Nevertheless, she could see it in his eyes; she could see what he saw.

" _Carannam,"_ He breathed. His hands shook as he leaned forward and pushed her on to the bed so he was hovering above her.

" _Carannam,"_ he repeated. She blinked once, but never broke contact with his eyes. On that rare, impulsive streak he seemed to have, that instinct of his took over and he crashed his lips down on hers.

Their breathing was even as they curled up, naked, on the bed. Rowan was running a hand through her hair and she was purring ever so slightly. He smiled with the male satisfaction.

 _Carannam._ He thought once again.

Fuck the abyss, he was flying in this very moment.


	5. Chapter 5

**It's great to be back to my keyboard. I've missed it. A lot.**

 **Thanks to all the reviewers! You are awesome!**

When you walked into a bar, you were in there for four reasons. One, you wanted to get piss drunk to forget some previous occurrence. Two, you wanted to gamble your money away because you believed that you were on a luck run. Three, you were a thief. Four, you had requested a meeting with someone and you thought a public place was a good place to meet with potential dangers. The fourth reason was completely idiotic, considering people wouldn't blink twice at a sudden bar fight until you were _accidently_ pushed into the middle of it.

She drummed her fingers on the bar table, her body thrumming with the energy of Adarlan's nightlife. The walls were covered with inscriptions of fights and alcohol, the telltale signs of a busy tavern. So far, Aelin had evaded two major fistfights, but who knew what the night held. She watched Arobynn discuss with some uneasy investor who couldn't stop twitching. His leg bounced up and down under the table and his fingers tapped the underside of the booth table. Big-busted waitresses sauntered around; all of them giggling like airheads at some imperceptible joke. From a commoner's perspective, the only threats in this room consisted of the two brawny men standing on each side of the entrance and the three bodyguards currently surrounding the man Arobynn was chatting up.

Aelin knew better. Much, much better.

Six men in the tavern were atypically hooded, the telltale sign of the classic amateur thief. The sober knew to stay away, but she supposed that their targets were the drunks who wouldn't suspect a thing. She was also currently wearing a hood, but only to obscure her identity. Never mind the fact that she looked like she was about to walk up and stick a knife down someone's throat, it created an air of mystery around her. Three men were milling around aimlessly were under Arobynn's command, easily spotted by their _too_ casual walk. She blinked, only allowing the tiniest bit of surprise to slip by at Arobynn's lack of skillful cronies. Or maybe he had purposely picked them for some reason. You never knew with Arobynn.

Arobynn gave a big smile to the man and took a swig from the flask beside him, no doubt some of his own stuff. Aelin was willing to bet Aedion, who was most likely presently glowering in her warehouse apartment because she had snuck off in the middle of the night, that the flask was full of his own alcohol. Arobynn would never drink the watery piss from the tavern.

Just as Aedion would never have allowed her to walk alone without permission. After her dramatic rescue of her cousin with a select few rebels' help, he had grown extremely protective of Aelin. So much so, that she was not above sneaking out without his permission. She blamed the fae blood in him; Aelin felt like a rebellious child sneaking out to meet with friends.

The two of them shook hands and the investor made to stand. Arobynn stayed in his seat, looking thoroughly pleased with himself. Aelin jumped off her own seat at the bar and sauntered over to Arobynn's booth. Now was the time. She was dressed in the black assassin's suit she had found hanging in her closet. She hadn't wanted to think about why it was newly updated with new padding and new concealed knives, but she _had_ figured that it was Arobynn's doing.

She felt off kilter, but she wasn't going to show him any weakness. Aelin took a breath and shifted into her old cold self.

She knew that Arobynn knew that she was back in town, however he didn't know she was in the same tavern tonight, she had made sure of that. She had her element of surprise, and that was all she needed as she slid into the booth, her face concealed by her hood.

"How can I help you?" Arobynn barely looked up before taking another swig of his flask. Aelin smirked and tugged her hood back.

"I can't just say hello to an old instructor? Here I thought we were so close." Arobynn's eyes flashed, the only sign of shock showing in his face. He quickly mastered it and tilted his chin upwards.

"Celaena, I'm surprised at your sudden appearance. Or should I say _Aelin_ now? Come to rejoin the guild?" Arobynn said. Aelin shrugged with cool indifference.

"Celaena, Aelin… I've heard some call me bitch as well, though I don't have the faintest idea why. Honestly, I find that I don't really care," She declared with a wave of her hand. She propped her feet up on the table, her soles dirty with piss and alcohol. Arobynn glanced at them once and then focused again on Aelin's face.

"It's a balm to the heart to see you still yourself after… well, you know." He feigned concern, as if he hadn't sent her off to Endovier after Sam. Arobynn was going to pay for a great deal of things.

"I've become extremely good at mining. I'm sure you'd be impressed. Who would've thought _I,_ of all people, was to be _so_ good at swinging a pickaxe." Aelin smirked as Arobynn's frown deepened.

"You have to know that I tried to do everything in my power to free you, ask anyone. Ask _Lysandra._ I'm so sorry to see so many new scars on you." The words dripped from his tongue and she internally cringed at his histrionics.

"I quite like them; I think they add to the whole 'badass' appeal," she replied. "Well, as sad as it is, I'm not here for idle chat. Business is the name of the game. I need something that you have. Finance, that is." It was an effort not to grin when his face slid into his mask. He had bought her fib. She would eventually need money to fund Terrasen, and Arobynn would be the one to "give" it to her. But what she was asking Arobynn for now was a simple distraction.

"Well, you, of everyone here, are the most experienced with how I run my _services._ A favor for a favor," Arobynn said. Aelin nodded and dusted off some invisible dirt on her thigh with nonchalance.

"Do continue." Arobynn smiled a bit.

"You've undoubtedly already noticed Adarlan's new guard. I want to… examine one up close. They seem too robotic for my liking, and I've noticed that all of them bear the same ring."

"And it couldn't _simply_ just be a normal ring, could it?" Arobynn shook his head. Aelin had already met a few of these new guards and she was certain they were valg. The rings must be the same thing as the collars. _Met_ was a weak word. They were, or the pieces of them were currently being gnawed on by rats down in the sewer.

She swung her legs off the table and stood up.

"Wait." She turned but was stopped by Arobynn's hand on her hip. He stood up in a catlike movement and cradled her cheek in his palm.

"Things have been wretched since you left," he admitted. She kept her mask of cool indifference firm though his hand burned on her hip. _Left._ He used the word _left,_ as though he wasn't behind enclosing her in a moving cage and sending her off to Endovier. Aelin lifted a corner of her mouth and twisted out of his grip.

"I'll consider your offer." She turned and strolled out of the tavern. She didn't look back even though she could feel Arobynn's calculating stare on her back.

She meandered around the town, sidestepping the intoxicated and dipping a hand into the pockets of the undeserving and irreverent wealthy. When she had had her fill of mischief, she found herself in front of the warehouse.

Something was missing, and she couldn't quite place it. It was as if a piece of her wasn't there. Aelin had noticed this after she had set foot in Rifthold. She could blame it on the magic, she _did_ feel strange without it, and the glass castle that towered over the city, but she had lived without the magic for years. It was more like… a certain white-tailed hawk.

 _Rowan._

It was _Rowan_ she missed so dearly. Her _carranam_ wasn't here with her, and she was paying dearly for it.

 _Typical fae male. Can't live with them, can't live without them._

She snorted and heaved the slide door to the warehouse open. She had snuck out through an open window, but she doubted that Aedion hadn't noticed her missing yet. It was no use spending precious energy climbing up to the tiled roofs. He would only prowl into her room and yell at her in there. She had, in the past few days where he had been recovering in her apartment, avoided any questions regarding Terrasen or the blood oath, knowing that any word voiced about Rowan would be met with an antagonistic response. It was difficult for her to keep something from someone she had kept so close to her heart. Someone she had now reinstated in her heart.

She took a step into the warehouse and froze as she spotted a massive figure leaning against one of the crates in the warehouse. Her hand flew up to her mouth as she uttered the name of the person she had been missing for the past weeks.

He was dressed in black and his face was covered, but she couldn't help but _feel_ his presence in the air, a pure force of nature. Even without his magic, he was simply _there._

She ran, abandoning all sense of decorum, and jumped on him. She straddled him and breathed in his scent. He held her with strong arms and sniffed her. She probably reeked of ale, sweat, and all things ungodly, but he held her anyway.

She shook as she held onto him, as if he was her anchor to this world.

"Fireheart," Rowan murmured into her hair and squeezed her before setting her down. She locked eyes with him.

 _How did you get here?_ Why _are you here?_ Rowan looked around and sighed. His entire demeanor locked up again after a few precious moments of weakness.

"Lorcan is here." Aelin's eyes widened. She opened her mouth just to shut it again. She shook her head and gripped his hand.

"I suppose you've been following me around all night then?" He nodded.

"You seemed to be having a particularly interesting conversation with the fellow in the booth. And he seemed to be very interested in _you_. And I do have to say that you shouldn't have cut those valg up alone, though I am quite…" The word was right at the tip of his tounge. _Proud._ He saw the laughter and pride in her eyes and chuckled. "Quite nervous of the effect this will have on your ego." She scrunched up her nose and swatted him. She would've replied something back, but she was a bit caught off guard by the glint of pride she saw in his eyes.

How had she not noticed him? Someone like Rowan was hard to miss with his muscular form and silver hair. She would've loved to see his face during her little talk with Arobynn.

Rowan set her down but didn't let go of her hand, as if he too was scared that if he let her go she would disappear into mist.

"Come. I'm to receive a lecture from my cousin, and I believe I've just discovered a way to get out of it. We can talk afterwards," She said as his eyes glinted with laughter.

"You would've made any tutor insane," he joked, flicking her nose. She batted it away and hugged him, relishing the feel and the pine and snow smell of her _carranam._ She pushed Rowan's hood back to reveal that wonderful tattooed face.

"You've cut your hair!" Aelin exclaimed as he chuckled.

"You said you'd be doing quite a bit of fighting, and shorter hair is much more advantageous," he stated matter-of-factly.

"Well, I think it makes you look more handsome," she said as he pushed her hood back to show faded dyed hair. He cocked his head and drew his eyebrows down a bit in confusion. She smirked and tugged on his hand. She led him up the stairs and knocked on the door with mock innocence. It was a moment before she heard a chair scraping against the floor and a muffled curse. A not so pleased Aedion flung the door open and retreated to the wall to lean against it and cross his arms. To her surprise, Chaol was also there. Her eye twitched with barely noticeable annoyance; one of Chaol's rebels must've seen her in the tavern and alerted him.

Aedion's casual attitude vanished when he saw Rowan. His face locked up at the sight of their joined hands and he nonchalantly inched towards the table where his sword lay.

"There's no need for violence, Aedion," Aelin warned, glaring at him. She simply jerked her head in greeting at Chaol, a greeting that he ignored because he was too occupied with glaring at Rowan. She beat them both to the chase, wanting to get things over and done with.

"This is Prince Rowan Whitethorn. Rowan, this is Aedion and Chaol," she explained as she glanced at the door to her bedroom, wanting to avoid the approaching conversation but knowing she wouldn't be able to get away. Wonderful.

There was a long pause before Chaol coughed and said quickly that he was needed elsewhere. He gave Rowan a long stare once again and shimmied out the door. He gave her a look that might have been a 'good luck', but it was hard to tell. When the door was carefully closed and the locked clicked in place, Aelin took a deep breath for courage and placed her hands in the tight pockets of her assassin's suit.

"I assume there will be questions," she said in what could've been a conversational tone in another conversation. Rowan and Aedion held their dominance stare for a few more seconds before Aedion broke it and directed his gaze towards Aelin.

"Well, you _could_ start explaining why in the blistering hells there is a fae here!"

"Aedion, lower your voice."

"I _will not_ lower my voice! You are _not_ my mother."

"No, I am your queen. Therefore, you will take my commands to your heart and, this I suggest for your own health, _use them_. So do us all a favor and begin realizing that we cannot build an empire on our own." Aedion gave her cruel look but wisely lowered his voice.

"So he is here to aid us? And you're sure he won't..." Aedion trailed off and looked Rowan up and down, taking in the black cloak and the assortment of weapons on his figure.

"Betray us?" Aelin choked on her words a bit and Rowan put a hand on her shoulder for stability. The _thought_ of Rowan betraying her was senseless. For one he had taken the famed blood oath; but he was her _carranam_ , a bond that went deeper than any oath could. He would never betray her, just as she would never dream of betraying him.

"I can assure you, _General,"_ Rowan used the word with venom, "I would never betray my _carranam_." The word floated around the room, making its mark in Aedion's head. _Shit._ Aelin thought. Rowan's hand lowered to her waist and he pulled her into his side as if he too could sense the oncoming storm.

"Your… _carranam_?" Aedion played with the word in his head; she could see his mind racing as he came to the final conclusion.

"He took the blood oath?" Aedion shouted at her with such blinding wrath, "He took what was my mine by birthright? You gave it to this… _this stranger,_ who has never set foot in Terrasen? Who has never felt Terrasen's earth underneath him or smelt the snow?"

"Aedion-

"I've heard of you, you and _Maeve_. You've destroyed cities and killed with that band of warriorsloyal to Maeve. Tell me, _Prince,_ why have you switched alliances _so very quickly_? Do you plan to simply change again, running to whichever bed is open and-"

" _Aedion,_ " Aelin seethed, stomping up to him and glaring. "You will _shut your mouth_." A command given, but not taken. Aedion abruptly opened his mouth again and shifted his attention to her.

"And you Aelin, what _were_ you thinking? What have you done with your life since Terrasen's downfall?" Before she could muster up a response, Rowan stared angrily at Aedion.

"I suggest you stop now, _General._ " A simple name, reminding Aedion that he too had a bloody past of betrayal. "Before you come to remember what you have done as well." Rowan executed his words perfectly, carving them into a severe knife, causing Aedion to look inward. He took a sharp breath and he fell to his knees, staring blankly at nothing.

"Aedion?" Aelin asked, concerned. He did not answer her. She cursed and looked at Rowan.

 _What am I going to do with a broken cousin?_

 _I suggest you wake him from his stupor and help him see reason._

Aelin sighed and gestured at the door to her bedroom.

 _So you can take a bath._

 _I would suggest you do the same._

She rolled her eyes and sank to her knees as soon as the door closed and she could hear the bath filling.

"Aedion," she said as she shook him, trying to wake him. She said his name again, with a fierceness that could only be said by one family member to another. She sighed again and leaned against his forehead.

"Aedion, I had no right to keep what I kept from you. I should've told you about the blood oath and Rowan and-" her voice cracked, "I'm sorry that you believe that I'm a conniving bitch queen and honestly I don't think I deserve a court but I'd be sorrier if you left me because of some petty little secret." Aedion blinked and wrapped his arms around her, wrapping her into a hug. Tears leaked from his eyes.

The words Rowan had said were playing over and over again in his head, she could see it. She could see Aedion replaying every scene of his past in his mind. Like a knife stabbing him repeatedly. His chest rose up and down quickly, as if he

" _I'm_ sorry, Aelin. I- I'm so sorry. For what I just said, for Terrasen, for Rifthold, for not being there all those years, for being the Wolf of the North for that _bastard of a king._ He doesn't deserve what he has. Hell, _I_ don't deserve you. What I've done… I'm so sorry. _You_ deserve the world, Aelin. You deserve what your parents promised you, you deserve Terrasen and your to be court. I remember you telling me that you didn't want to be queen; I said I'd still follow you even if you went renegade. I'd follow you then, I'll follow you now."

A single tear fell down her cheek and onto his shoulder. She burrowed her head into his shoulder and they stayed like that for a few more minutes.

"You reek of piss and ale," he said, "Go take a bath." She laughed and pushed of him. He stood up as well. His eyes ran over her form, checking if she was injured. She smiled at this and leaned against the marble counter of the kitchen island as she gripped Aedion's hand.

"I may deserve the world, Aedion, but you deserve a happy future to make up for that shitty past we have. The Gods ought to deem us worthy." He smiled and she let go, making her way to the bath.

She came out satisfied, dressed in an oversized tan shirt. The feeling of being clean was one she relished. She collapsed on the over the top bed before recognized Rowan leaning against one of the bedposts. He seemed uneasy about something.

"Aelin, about the sleeping arrangements…" She patted the spot beside her and he gave her a sidelong glance.

"Please Rowan; I'm too tired right now. I just need you here." She murmured as she heard his long, heavy sigh and felt the bed dip with his weight.

"Why did you see that man at the bar?" Aelin sank back into the pillows.

"That was Arobynn. I needed something. Want to go valg hunting with me?" Rowan chuckled.

"I would love to, however I think it's better if you give your cousin a chance to prove himself to you again; to show you that he still wants to fight for you and with you." She rolled over to kiss him on the cheek.

"I missed you," she whispered as she settled down onto the space between his neck and his shoulder and splayed her fingers across his heart. "I'm glad you're here."

"And I you, Fireheart."


	6. Chapter 6

**Aelin's birthday in Heir of Fire done a little bit differently.**

 **A/N (pretty sure that means Author's Note): Apologies for the lateness (and the long explanation, I don't usually do this)! Don't worry, I haven't forgotten about this or fallen into a well. If it helps, which it probably doesn't, my excuse is that I just started the IGCSE course and (though people in my class like to complain about how hard it is, honestly, it's just a lot of busywork) it** _ **does**_ **take a little bit of time to develop a way to juggle the more demanding homework scheme and this and soccer and…**

 **Anyway, if I don't get as many fanfics out as I used to, don't be worried. I will continue! And please don't be too mad. I know how it feels when something doesn't come out soon enough *cough cough* Empire of Storms *cough cough*. I feel your pain.**

 **Any story ideas much appreciated! Don't feel shy about sharing! (And maybe you can start writing fanfics too. There are never enough fanfics for the ToG series or the ACOMAF series. Just remember that when your first published book comes out, in big bold letters you should write that I helped you along the way to becoming the McShizzle).**

 **(Joking)**

 **(But it wouldn't hurt ;))**

 _ **Aelin~**_

She might've had a death wish, but she could no longer stand to laze about in that empty room all day. The fire had become too warm, the air too stuffy, and the bed too… well, comfortable. Ironic, really, that a few days of what she had dreamt about in her own little sad excuse for a room had become a nuisance. She had tried, honestly _tried_ to mollify the fire in Rowan's room, but the well of magic in her seemed to be _blocked,_ of all things. Just as before, her body was telling her ' _No, don't try. Don't do it again'._ And, if she was being completely reasonable, she should've listened to her body, to its screaming and moaning; however, the mind and sanity had somehow overshadowed the body's judgement of her current state.

So, staggering on legs like a newborn fawn, she sat up and tentatively crossed the room to the plain dresser to grab an enormous shirt and snug pants that sat on the plain dresser. Cussing and stumbling, she made her way to the locked door with two skinny knives and set to work. She hoped that Rowan hadn't expected a locked door to keep her contained. It would've been far too insulting to who she had once been.

Rowan had left her alone for the first time since the burnout, a blessing, really, and had _kindly_ barked at her that she was to stay in bed and try to sleep. She had had enough of sleep and its wretched dreams. Throughout her stay in Mistward, she had quickly fallen into dreamless sleeps after hard days and had begun to enjoy the relaxing blackness. Her body, tired after a day of being beaten and bruised, would shut down and allow her to shut the cold out. It was wonderful. In the last few days, however, her mind had been reeling, swooping in and out of consciousness as her horrid imagination spun its own tales, weaving in and out of her past.

She smiled with an old and estranged sense of pride as the door swung open, its lock thoroughly broken through. It seemed she hadn't lost her touch after all this time. Once a criminal, always a criminal. And people expected her to be a queen. How absurd.

Aelin grabbed a book on her way out the door, something with some military stratagems. She would've expected nothing less of the great and powerful Prince Rowan. His taste in books was about the same as his taste in clothing. Grey and boring, that was. Although, it was a book, and she had not felt the rough and familiar pages of a book in far too long.

She passed few on her way to the out of the fort, the scarce that she did pass by looked with curious and tense eyes at her strange little hobble and the way she paused every few minutes to lean against the wall and catch her breath. A small amount asked her if she needed any assistance getting back to her room. She simply gritted her teeth while shaking her head, ignoring their looks. It was too late to back out now, and the thought of going back to Rowan's stuffy room… It wasn't that she was ungrateful, and she was most likely in the process of being kicked out his room anyway with her moaning and complaining, but she had to listen to her own specific needs, not what Rowan said were her needs. Defiant 'till the bitter end, she though bitterly.

So, embracing that small little bundle of arrogance hidden somewhere in that scarred and hollow soul of hers, she trudged on and finally made it to the back door of Mistward. There were many ways to get into the woods, yet this was the only one that didn't involve some daunting task like making her way through the courtyard or managing to get past Luca and Emirys.

She was rather proud of herself for making it this far, to the small veiled waterfall that she and Rowan had passed on various occasions. It was gorgeous. Almost like out of a storybook, it was a place where forbidden lovers would meet in secret and make love to each other under the stars. Green firs surrounded the area, and the pool at the bottom of the waterfall, she believed it was called a plunge pool, was crystal clear with little multicolored fish swimming about. A grassy bank surrounded the beauty. Smooth rocks seemed that seemed nearly placed led up to the overhand, slick with water and covered in moss.

Rowan would most likely throw a hissy fit when he found her. He could track her by her scent alone. She was certain that the minute he returned and discovered that the weak thing that had taken his bed for the past few days was missing; he would tear up the entire forest with that overprotective wrath of his.

But he hadn't found her yet, and she couldn't hear trees being torn up from the ground, so Aelin clenched her teeth and slowly climbed up the rocks to the overhang. Dangling her legs off of the waterfall and enjoying the cool spray from the rushing waters, she opened the book and lost herself in the world of the fae's strange yet effective military maneuvers.

Though not before concentrating on the water for a few seconds and wishing, honest to the Gods _wishing_ as if she was some child, that her mother had left her with some sort of _'Happy Birthday'._

 _ **~Rowan~**_

She was far too rebellious, for someone with her past. Or perhaps that was the reason for her constant refusal of orders. Either way, Rowan was far from pleased. One would've thought that obedience had been drilled into her, though he could not blame her for her need to defy.

It was always that way with her. Years of being a stone-faced fae said one thing, while another part of him defended her. It was a confusing twist of feelings that left him with guilt, heavy in his mind and his heart.

He had arrived back in Mistward only to find his charge, who, coincidentally, had also nearly drained herself of any form of magic and was currently far too weak to be anywhere except the bed, missing after specific orders not to move. Yet move was what she did. The missing clothes and the tampered with lock on the door were enough to make him nearly growl. The foolish woman would be the end of him. He had been gone for nearly half the day to investigate the drained bodies, and had left her in the early hours of the morning with a firm order not to do anything drastic. She had responded with a drowsy _'fine'_ and had promptly returned to her slumbering state.

Perhaps he was the fool for trusting her.

Or perhaps not.

He thought about it as he paced down the corridor and down the flight of steps that led down to the kitchen. Flinging the wooden door wide open he frowned and searched the room for a few precious seconds, yet only stepping a few steps within before he realized her honey and spice scent here was days old. Luca, Emirys and Malakai all shot straight up out of their seats, all three alarmed and surprised at the news that he begrudgingly gave.

"Have you not seen her? How could she have simply _waltzed_ out of this fortress? It's supposed to be guarded at all times!" Rowan snarled.

"Apologies, _Prince,_ however you've maybe realized that Elentiya tends to value her independence. Give her some time. Today's an emotional day for her, after all," Emirys snapped. Rowan's eyebrows scrunched down in confusion and both Emirys' and Luca's eyes widened.

"I would've thought she would've said something to you," Luca breathed. "I mean, she didn't say anything to me, Emirys told me, but I would've definatly thought she would have said something to you about it."

"Tell me about what?" Rowan's teeth clenched, his incisors sharp as he bared his fangs at them. He did not appreciate being left in the dark. Malakai casually took a step towards Rowan.

"Well, the ones here old enough to recognize the signs of powerful magic being created, we all knew when her mother conceived her. A tremor passed through all the fires around the fort and they wavered and flickered a bit as she drew their strength from them."

"It's her… birthday?" Emirys nodded and, slowly, turned back to his trade, motioning for both Luca and Malakai to do the same.

Birthdays were now a foreign concept to him. Immortality seemed to dim the prospect of excitement in the anniversary of one's birth. To hear of Aelin celebrating was… well, he didn't actually understand what he felt. Ever since Aelin had come barreling into his life, his beliefs had been challenged as he had been forcefully pulled out of his hole of self-hatred. She had defied what he stood for, order and responsibility, and made him want to join her in her rebellion against the world. It took too much effort for him to quell the irrational want. To add to it all, she seemed to rankle his emotions into foreign beings that began anew, creating feelings of compassion, friendship, empathy. It was, in the loosest sense, extremely disorientating.

And she was alone out there, in the forest where skinwalkers roamed and an unknown being was literally sucking the life out of its victims, celebrating her _birthday_ of all things, at a time like this. More bizarre emotions rose up from his gut. The need to _find_ her, and _know_ that she was unharmed. Unharmed and happy. The thoughts slammed around in his head, ripping up old patches of sensitive feelings that he thought he had lost long ago. Gods, he was _fucked._

He ripped through the forest, the wind rushing past his aerodynamic form. The tops of the trees native to forests around Mistward, mainly pines and firs, met his eyes as he searched for some golden strand of hair that would give him a hint for where she was. Wherever she was, she was surprisingly well hidden. He slowed down, halting the stream of wind that aided him.

He could _smell_ her scent. He didn't need to spot her when he could sniff her out.

Gods, he was an idiot. A blustering, reckless fool was what he was. He dived down, aiming for a spot of flat ground before shifting midair, causing numerous other animals around the area to scatter. He felt his skin stretch and his feathers disappear, traded for skin and hair. Landing securely on two feet, he took off in a random direction, the trees blurring past him as he ran. It was a matter of minutes until he tracked the familiar scent that too often filled his head. He followed the trail, sprinting all the way before he arrived at a spot that he and Aelin had travelled past many times and that he had never given a second thought to until she pointed out that there, behind repetitive trees, was a scenic waterfall that looked like it was taken straight out of a faerytale. The water rushed down into a deep plunge pool with such clear water, you could see the many-hued fish that swarmed the calming pool. Spring made flowers of all different colors bloom randomly across the small grass bank. Fir and pine trees covered the vista, making it seem… secretive.

And there, right beside the rushing stream of water that flew off the overhang, a pair of tan legs dangled freely. Rowan sighed and stood a minute, catching his fleeting breath and simply _looking_ around with seemingly renewed eyes. The place was pure. Almost pure enough to cleanse a mortal. He was fae.

Trading skin for feathers once again, he shot upright and soared over the view, landing right behind an unsuspecting Aelin. He was about to make her aware of his presence before he heard a faint humming of some classic tune he had heard once before and saw the book in her hand. It was a book that Gavriel had once given him that he had acquired from a passing trader. He had only read it once and had found it quite dull, though Aelin seemed thoroughly enraptured by it. So much to not even realize that he was practically breathing down her neck. The thought brought him out of his own entrancement.

"I don't suppose that you simply _expected_ the monsters to stay away?" He drawled. He should be shouting at her right now, telling her what a foolish girl she was for leaving the fort in her current state, but when she simply sighed and bowed her head a bit, he bit his tounge. She curled the top right corner of the page to leave some sort of marker there, as if he was ever going to let her read that again, and shakily stood, taking a moment to admire the view before turning towards Rowan.

"This place is well-hidden, and I didn't expect _you_ to not find me," she mumbled, closing her eyes and taking a few more breaths.

"I tracked you by scent." _And do not think for a moment that I am the only one that can do that._

 _Yes. I get it. Wasn't a smart move._

 _Why did you leave?_

 _You would find it stupid._

"And yet you still did it. This is not getting you closer to your goal, Aelin."

"I find myself wondering what my goal is nowadays. Can't we simply skip the whole patronization?" She stared at him with hard eyes and crossed arms, her body weary with exhaustion yet still taut as a bowstring at the same time. He took a step towards her and she took a step back, nearing the edge of the overhang.

Rowan saw her eyes light up with an idea. He saw a small mischievous sparkle return to her eyes, creating life in what had been so leaden for too many weeks.

"Aelin, don't!" She threw the book at him before diving backwards off the cliff into the glinting water below. He had read the words in her eyes before she jumped.

 _Watch me,_ Prince _._

 _ **~Aelin~**_

In all honesty, she didn't exactly know what she was thinking. One moment she was tired and just wanted to lie down and sleep, then all of a sudden she saw a way to piss off Rowan and all the exhaustion vanished. She heard Rowan roar after her as she leapt out into the open air. It wasn't the largest waterfall, but it was still high enough to propel her downwards as she dove headfirst into the plunge pool. Through the clear water, she could see the bubbles of another splash directly beside her and she felt strong arms encircle her waist and pull her upwards.

"Are you insane?" Rowan bellowed as they came up, both gasping for air and sputtering. The cold water surrounded her and soaked through her clothes, making her shiver the smallest amount. She _still_ hadn't recovered from her burn out and it was making her mad with annoyance.

And as the water cleared from her eyes, she saw Rowan's angered face and began to laugh, to _chortle_ , reveling in the strange situation. It was good to be _outside_ and… happy. Content. And with Rowan of all people. And laughing suddenly felt good again. No weight was placed upon her shoulders. She felt light and _free_.

She had felt this way once before. That time she had also been soaked through, though near dying. The lake was suddenly replaced by the sewer and the loose clothes she wore substituted for a midnight black assassin's suit. Rowan's green eyes were traded with brown and his silvery hair swapped with dark strands. She could nearly feel his warm lips on hers, the way their breaths mingled and his hands that shyly roamed her body.

Her lips parted at that memory of Sam. Then she blinked and he was gone, once again Rowan with an angry mien that softened when he saw that she had suddenly been somewhere else, transported into a world of the past.

"Aelin?" Rowan asked tenderly, slowly pushing them towards the grassy bank. His eyebrows bunched when she didn't respond quickly enough and continued to be bunched as her eyelids fluttered once more. And when she lied to Rowan and said she was fine, he simply glared at her as if to say ' _don't lie to me'_. They reached the bank and she gripped the dirt and grass and pulled herself up, Rowan's hands and strength helping her up by pushing her waist. He crawled up without any assistance.

For some reason, they both lay there completely still, staring up at a darkening sky. Aelin's mind couldn't stop whirring, always moving back to that heart wrenching moment when Sam had held her and kissed her. And then molded into Rowan's hard and cold face that had, probably accidently, been leaking emotion.

They were so different, Sam and Rowan. Sam had been… kind-hearted and so very brave and always pulling her back from her more than a little impulsive endeavors - not that it had worked most of the time. Rowan was… stone-cold, hardened by years of experience. He was brave too, but in such a different way. It was more an arrogant brave; the type of courage that was brought on only by a reckless disregard for life or death. For all that he had been through, Rowan didn't have that _willingness_ to live as Sam had had.

Rowan didn't live, he survived.

Just as she did.

She couldn't pinpoint exactly _when_ the joy of living had been stolen from her, but perhaps it had begun with a morning filled with blood and loss or the oppressive wood of a wagon.

"Is it true that today is your birthday?" Rowan asked, his voice strangely kind and small. She felt his eyes on her as she nodded once.

"Nineteen years today." They lay in silence for a few more minutes before she twisted so she faced him.

"It doesn't feel like my birthday, though. If anything, this day feels like a clock, telling me how much time has passed between today and all that has happened in the past." He nodded in agreement. She could see it in his eyes and the way he nodded – he felt the same way. She didn't even know if anyone _knew_ when his birthday was. Did he feel lonely, when no one wished him happy birthday? That no one remembered?

"For one so against the thought of another's pity, you seem to have no regard for others in that manner." The cold, gruff voice was back again, so she turned her body so she faced the sky again. She gave him no reply.

"The first day of Summer," Rowan said after another long silence.

"What?"

"The day I was brought into this world was the first day of the Summer months."

"Strange, for a Prince of ice and wind. No wonder you're so outlandish, you refuse to even follow the seasonal system." Rowan smiled a bit before closing his eyes.

"You're a fool, I hope you know, for leaving the fortress in the state you're in. _Any_ creature of _any_ nature could have attacked you - you'd be as defenseless as an infant. A fox could have been dangerous." Aelin sighed. In all honesty, this was going better than expected. If everything had played out like she'd thought it would, he would've slung her over his shoulder and carried her all the way back to Mistward while yelling at her.

"Though I admit, I'm curious as to why you believe yourself above the common rules of sense." He stood up and offered her a hand which she took.

"You're going to slaughter me when I'm fully healed, aren't you?" He grinned with predatory delight.

"You expected something different?"

"Is it too late ask for a birthday gift?" She still saw the question festering in his eyes and her shoulders slumped.

"I -I don't know. I just had to get –"

A sound of rustling in the bushes interrupted her and Rowan whirled around, knife glinting under the faint light of the moon.

She swore as a shadowy figure rose from the bushes.

 **~Rowan~**

Shit. He should've known that their scents would have been blown by the wind, spreading over the entire forest. He would've known had Aelin not distracted him.

The look on her face in the plunge pool, a look of the pure reminiscence of longing. She had said things before, about a man named Chaol, but he had seen the look she had when she spoke of that. This was different.

And there she went again, mixing his thoughts whilst there was danger about.

The creature slowly ascended towards them, a monster of pure shadow and pale flesh. The darkness seemed to cling to its very being, molding and shaping around it. And when it smiled, two rows of sharp teeth stood ready to attack and kill. The smell of it was… atrocious. Like rotting flesh. One whiff would have a grown man trembling at the knees. Rowan was not a man, but he could feel the dark corners of his mind swirl and gather around every pure and _good_ thought, not that there were many, and drown them in a sea of darkness. He could understand how Aelin, in the early days, had pissed herself and vomited when she had come in contact with this… creature.

Dark eyes met his and the monster smiled, seeing so many memories of hurt and pain that it could use. Rowan _knew_ , with every fiber of his being, that this was the thing that had left bodies around the forest, sucked dry of blood.

"Rowan," Aelin said, tugging at his arm. All he could hear was a faint whisper as he stared deep into the eyes of it. She repeated his name, this time louder, finally wrenching his gaze from the creature. Her famed Ashryver eyes were wide with fear. Not fear of the creature, but fear of the fact that she _was_ helpless, and she could do nothing. That she was depending on him to get them out of this. And that look crushed him, the mere look and thought of Aelin _actually_ weak and powerless. The look made him quickly crouch and motion for her to climb onto his back. She quickly wrapped her legs around him and it startled him to feel how _light_ she was. Had she not been eating for months?

The creature looked as though it wanted to take a step towards them, but Rowan blew it back with an ice cold wind, knocking it off its feet. Then he ran like hell.

When Mistward came into view, Rowan could feel the sigh of relief hot on his spine as Aelin hugged his back, squeezing him nearly to death.

The sensation of despair had stopped trailing him, enough so that he began taking slower steps, his breath shortening. When they slammed into the wards, Rowan slackened his grip on Aelin and let her down. She responded in twirling him around and hugging him, her arms around him. He buried his face in her warm neck and inhaled deeply, taking in her scent as it wrapped around him.

They stood like that for a few minutes, before Rowan broke off and looked her deep in the eye.

 _If I hadn't been there, you'd have been dead._

In a rare act of submission, Aelin bowed her head and nodded, mumbling an incredibly quiet "I shouldn't have done it". After that followed an equally quiet "thank you". She took one step away from him and would've crumpled had he not caught her. He hefted her up in his arms, carrying her bridal style up to the room. Many fae, especially _males_ , looked at them, though they quickly averted their gaze when he let out a soft growl. When they reached the room that Aelin had so wonderfully broken out of, _his_ room, she was barely awake. He set her down on the bed before starting the fire. Then he too collapsed onto the bed. It had been an eventful day.

"You still haven't told me why you left the fort," he said, breaking the comfortable silence between the two. She took a deep breath before answering, as if thinking about what she was going to say.

"I had to leave; being confined to one space for a long period of time is… unsettling for me. I just like to know that I can get out. That I'm not trapped or locked up. It harbors from the days in..." She trailed off, but he knew. _Endovier._ She had previously said that they had kept her in a dark cell for weeks on end. It irked him to know that she felt that way here. Acting on a fae impulse, he pulled her closer to him, enough so that, after a surprised twitch from her, she rested her head on his shoulder and snuggled closer to his side.

The predator inside him grinned with glee as he saw her satisfied smile.

"What happened after you jumped?" He asked her, once again breaking the silence. Oh, how the roles had reversed. She hesitated for a moment before wincing.

"I was caught in a memory, is all," she said, quick and terse. He shook his head and rubbed a spot behind her ear, making her purr. The mere sound sent thrills through him. Gods, what _was_ he doing?

"We both know that's an understatement. You were far from there."

"I -it's a bit… I was thinking of Sam." She admitted, her eyes screwing shut.

The man that had been tortured by her old master and had apparently taken her heart with him to the afterworld. She had regained it only to have it shattered by another. With a history of heartache, would she ever open her heart for another?

If one had been enough to fracture his soul, he couldn't even begin to fathom just how much pain she carried on her lithe form.

The hand behind her ear lowered until it carefully gripped her cheekbone, lifting her face upwards to look at him. The side of his shirt was wet with tears.

It pained him, honestly, to see her cry. He had no idea how these thoughts had suddenly been implanted in his mind. He saw her tear-striped face and he wiped those tears away with a gentleness of anyone else but him before looking Aelin in the eyes again. He was fighting this internal battle he was sure she could see. The battle between want and reason. So he was surprised when she leaned upwards to catch his lips with hers. His lips responded immediately, eyes shut. Their breaths mingled and she let out a quiet sigh of contentment. It was… well, it felt complete. A full circle. It was a weird and wonderful thing.

He pulled her on top of him so she was straddling him, a long, lean leg on each side. Her blonde hair curtained them from the outside world, blocking out everything else in his view except _her._ He slackened his grip on her chin and cheek, only to have one entwine into her hair and another trace the length of her spine.

Her sweet scent mingled with his and he felt _something_ snap into place. It wasn't a mating bond, but something else. Like…

 _Carranam._

A bonded pair of fae who could fuel each other. Who understood each other. The deepest bond of friendship and fire and frost. He could feel an invisible mist around them, melding into the others as they breathed. He was about to tell her, but he saw that her eyes had widened and were staring deep into his as her lips stopped. A hand lifted up to trace his cheekbone as she stared at him, marveling.

 _What?_

 _I have no need to boost your ego._

He pushed her lips against his again.

Eventually the two had to part, mainly for breath, but she climbed off of him and nestled back into his side, smiling softly. He let out a small smirk and turned so he could face her, though keeping his arm under her head as a makeshift pillow. She bowed her head into his chest and he placed his other arm on her waist.

"I'm far too tired to do anything tonight, though I suppose it would've been a good birthday gift." He smiled into her hair and murmured something about a box of chocolate truffles that lay on the table. Her head immediately lifted up to see if he was telling the truth and he laughed when her eyes went wide when she spotted it. She then lay down again, smiling joyfully.

"Happy Birthday, Aelin." Rowan whispered as they both drifted off into dreamless sleeps.


	7. Chapter 7

**Okay, I admit it. This one is a bit fluffier than my standard writing style. I think. But I will say that I wanted to get one last (not last as in my last fanfic, but last like 'last one before I go into my little hovel where I hide from all light and read the hell out of Sarah J. Maas' books'. You can't just read one, you have to have a reading marathon. It's common knowledge. Who needs sleep anyway?) fanfic out before Empire of Storms comes out (WHICH IS TOMORROW). The ones after Empire of Storms comes out will be effected by said book and will have more of a plot than this one.**

 **Anyways, I'll be avoiding all technology until I get the book (I preordered it but I live in Europe so I have to get it sent, along with the coloring book (Gah, I'm** _ **So. Freaking. Excited.**_ **) so it takes a bit of time for it to get to me. I can't wait until the compendium and the novels come out. And A Court of Mist and Fury. Oh God, I just can't wait. See people? This is why it's nice to be living in this time period) and will most likely avoid all contact with the outside world** _ **when**_ **I get the book.**

 **Oh, and then I realized that I have to put a disclaimer on all the fanfics. Since I am far too lazy, I'm just going to say this:**

 **DISCLAIMER FOR FUTURE AND PAST FANFICS OF MINE ABOUT THE BELOVED THRONE OF GLASS SERIES. FOLKS, THAT WONDERFUL PIECE OF HEAVEN KNOWN AS SARAH J. MAAS OWNS ALL THE STUFF YOU RECOGNIZE, INCLUDING CHARACTERS AND THE WORLD.**

 **Woof, glad we got that cleared up. And good luck with future reading and writing endeavors.**

She lurched awake, startled from the sudden movement of the body beside her. Sweat poured down his face, beads of it soaked the pillow. She could _smell_ the fear that surrounded him and hear the quick, near silent twitches he made. He made a sound, deep and guttural, like an injured wolf. It was full of a cavernous sorrow, and something she had never heard before.

Aelin reached across the silken sheets to put a hand on his broad, scarred chest. His skin was warm to the touch, his inner self nearly boiling over under whatever pressure his nightmare was putting him in.

"Rowan!" She whisper-yelled as his brilliant pine eyes snapped open and darted around the dark room, ending on her small, concerned form. His pupils had become dilated, the blackness bleeding over the pine green, making him seem more feral than fae. A small wind from the open balcony door entered the room, swirling around them and cooling his scorching skin. He was panting; long, hard, drawn out breaths as he inspected her, scrutinizing her form.

"Rowan?" Her voice came out more like a concerned breath. And she was concerned – only because it was usually _her_ waking up in the middle of the night needing comfort and the familiarity of him. It was usually _her_ eyes darting around the room, making sure her memories hadn't become the present.

Her hand was still splayed across his chest, connecting the two. He gripped her wrist with his right hand and laid back down, staring up at the ceiling of the lavish bedroom decorated in Terrasen's colors. She scooted closer to him, snuggling against him as he pulled her ever closer. Rowan turned on his side and bent down to kiss the top of her head, mumbling something in Fae. She turned her head to look up at him, that slightly unnerved face, piercing him with a questioning gaze. He responded by drawing her back into his embrace. He grasped her skin as if to assure himself that she was real, and she was here.

"You were in chains," he hissed, "You were in chains. They had you tied up to the posts and they were –" His breathing quickened again as his hand found its way to her back, body bare from earlier that night, tracing over the remnants of old damages. His hand made soothing patterns and she sighed in contentment.

"I'm okay, I'm here with you," She murmured as she reached up to trace his jaw, rough with silver stubble. He sighed and pressed his lips to her forehead. His ferocity at her past was a balm to her heart; it filled her with a sense of happiness that someone cared for what happened to her.

It was strange, his dream, though not entirely unexpected. Ever since Terrasen had become stable, stable as in nobody was trying to invade with demons from another realm, Rowan had become increasingly animalistic towards her past, going so far as to say that she had every right to go and track down the officials that ran Endovier and slaughter them like the pigs they were. And he would help her. She had no doubt that Aedion would join in, should he be asked.

At the time, she had laid a hand on his arm and told him that it was her choice and, no matter how cruel those men had been, they didn't deserve to be hunted by two, possibly more, savage fae killers. Why? Because those men were influenced by their surroundings. They were tugged down a very, very dark path by a mad king who corrupted himself for his blood. That was what she had said to Rowan when they had taken a stroll down the thriving streets of Orynth. That was what the public, her people, expected of their, though iron-fisted and stubborn, fair queen. She could not rule with revenge, when revenge meant the suffering of her people. For them, she would gladly give up her desires. When they were alone and back in their room in the castle, she admitted that she would gladly rip their throats out on any given day, though groups of rebellions at the time of the slave massacre had personally gone and executed every single official or soldier involved with the Endovier and Calaculla.

Rowan's lips trailed from her forehead down to her cheek and, finally, her neck, and she began to find it increasingly difficult to form coherent thoughts. Oh, how the court would talk of the mark left on her neck when he was done. Her hands reached up and she threaded her fingers through his now shoulder length hair, gently tugging him on top of her. He complied and balanced himself just above her, moving a free hand to her waist and tugging it upwards so she arched her back.

She could die from this, she decided. Die from the pure want of him. His mouth locked onto hers and her teeth grazed his bottom lip, making him beg entry with his tounge. She pressed her body against his, wanting more, always wanting more.

His free hand roamed across her stomach and stilled. He stopped moving and his entire body locked up.

"Rowan?" She asked, tenderly lowering her body back down to the bed. Rowan pulled back and stared at her with pine green eyes, hand still on her stomach. It seemed he just didn't want to answer. She began to worry and she set a light hand on his forehead to see if he was burning up. His breath came then, not pants but more like… breaths of wonder. He gave a breathy chuckle. As if _he_ couldn't believe something. The corners of his mouth turned up into a full blown smile and his eyes shone in the dark of their room, his nightmare forgotten. In one deft move, he rolled them so she straddled him, one leg on either side. She sat up. His hand on her stomach was unmoving.

"What's wrong?" She asked, peering down on him with a frown. He responded in a smile.

"Quite the contrary, Fireheart. How long has it been since you've bled?" Her brows furrowed.

 _Why in the name of all the Gods would you ask-_

 _She_ froze.

 _Oh._

"I…" She was overdue. By two months. By the Gods. How had she not noticed? Even with everything going on, how had she not seen her body's signs? Rowan gazed up at her, amused by her bewilderment and sudden hit of clarity.

"I feel life. Faint, but there," he whispered, his face the display of unadulterated joy and excitement. She, on the other hand, stared at the engraved ceiling above her.

"A territorial fae bastard knocked me up. By the Gods." She lowered her eyes to meet Rowan's and felt her face begin to mirror his.

 _I'm pregnant._

 _You're pregnant._

She let out a little atypical squeal and wrapped herself around Rowan who responded in like. Then a sudden realization dawned on her and she jerked back.

"I will never be alone, will I? I won't be able to train, or _live._ You'll be pestering me nonstop with your fussing! Gods, I won't be able to leave the room! _"_ Rowan let out a hearty laugh. It was meant as a joke, but she knew, _knew,_ that he wouldn't repeat the same mistake that he had with his deceased mate.

It would be worse than her burnout. She could already foresee the promise of death in his eyes as any male that entered his limit of a couple feet away from her. He chuckled at the horror in her eyes.

"True, but I'll let you eat all the chocolate truffles you want. And think of all the reading you'll get done, stowed away in here. You'll be spoiled beyond compare."

"I suppose it's not you I should be worried about, more Lysandra and Aedion," She admitted. Rowan made a likeminded noise.

"Aedion would begin to pace the floors and guard the hall ways, much like a guard dog, while Lysandra would be your constant companion, entertaining you through fits of mischief as she jump-scares Aedion time and time again with her ghost leopard form." She could see it all play out in her head. Dorian would arrive from Rifthold after he had heard the news and he would bring a pile of books for her which they would discuss over a meal, Nesryn and Chaol would express their gladness through equally stone faces. Luca, Emrys, and Malakai would keep her company whenever she escaped from her cage to flee down the kitchens (which would obviously be quite often) and she would steal the food off the table and endure the teasing lecture from Emrys. Then Rowan would storm into the kitchen and, seeing her laughing, ease his own harsh face and join them in their playful banter.

A dream.

A dream to become reality.

"Aelin," Rowan murmured moving his hands from her stomach to her waist, "I love you. I need you to know, I will stay with you through storm and fire and whatever darkness the Gods throw in our way." She leaned down to cup his cheek, her own eyes brimming with tears and she kissed him once, delicately, and repeated the words that had bound them together.

"To whatever end," She said, knowing that the light they had both been craving for so long was encircling and embracing them; blessing them.


	8. Chapter 8

**I sincerely apologize for the late update on this one. I can't even think of a good enough excuse besides school. That and the book coma I was in after Empire of Storms. Read it in one sitting. And I laughed and cried and** _ **awwwwed**_ **at Rowan and Aelin. But when that ending came… I just… Okay, kids, cover your eyes.**

 **That motherfucking hellish assshit of a bitch. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you.**

 **Sorry about that. I don't usually use that much language but I have some pent up anger due to a certain fae bitch queen. Can't she just die already? Though if some of you know the ending to Empire of Storms (BTW, spoilers ahead) then you'll maybe agree with me.**

 **I cried for about an hour afterwards. And then I was left with a numbness knowing that I'll have to wait about another year for some goddamn righteousness is Erilea. The only thing that can save me is the next ACOTAR book (which is scheduled to come out on May 2** **nd** **, 2017, just so you know). And even** _ **that**_ **might not be enough.**

 **Alright, now to the serious stuff. I do realize that there is a significant amount of plot holes in this one. Bear with me. And just so you people know, I absolutely love Elide and Lorcan together, (it was pretty predictable though, they were clearly going to cross paths at some point). And I do feel bad for Lorcan. I somehow like the guy even after what he did because he did it for Elide. It was incredibly romantic yet it screwed with me. And Fenrys, that adorable hunk, is a little piece of heaven. I vote that he should survive this series and meet some dynamite gal who turns his world upside down (though I love the tension between him and Rowan about Aelin).**

 **To the wonderful, fantastic piece of brilliantness who suggested that (freaking ingenious) story idea: Love it. Absolutely, 100% love it. I think I'll post that one as another story, not in this one. So if I don't update** _ **this**_ **story in a while, it's because I'll be working on that awesome suggestion. No clue when it'll be uploaded, but I have fall break this week and sleep is overrated.**

 **And again, if anyone wants to follow suit with the great person (pretty sure it was a guest…) who gave the story suggestion/idea, please do so. Or maybe even open your laptop and start writing yourself! There are never enough S.J Maas fanfics.**

Rowan

Failure was not, and had never been, an option. The group the hawk had been travelling with, the lame girl with the persistent demi-fae that tried to turn her away, though the hawk could see his actions were half-hearted, on her heals and the lion with a face of sorrows, had, after too many dangers and perils, caught wind of words. Words that were worth the price given by a martyred beggar. A small price, the fae behind the hawk thought, but the hawk shushed him; the mind of the hunter easing the fae's consciousness into a cage with a toughening bolt. The need to track his target submerged the fae's thoughts and feelings. Sadness was not to be felt; happiness was not to be dealt with until he located his prey. The only thing in the hawk's mind were the principals of the hunt: locate the prey and eat to survive. Despite the lack of responsibility, the hawk did not feel free. Freedom was only to be felt when the hawk had fulfilled its goal.

"Rowan!" A rough, though feminine, voice breached the hawk's senses and, by default, the hawk dove for the forest ground and shifted into the fae form.

The clearing the group had gathered in was covered by trees with trunks as tall as the mountains that shadowed the forest. Something pushed at the fae's thoughts, something about masking a scent of a woman by enclosing her in his arms…

"What?" the fae ground out, clearly displeased with the lack of night air rushing towards his aerodynamic form. The fae vaguely took notice of the ice forming around him in a clear circle. The lame girl, the one who had called out to him, took a step back.

"Rowan, you need to hold it together," the lion gave him a warning glance, "your magic is beginning to break lose. You need to preserve it for when we find her."

Her. _Her_.

His prey.

No.

Woman. Wife. Mate. _Fireheart._

Sense rushed back into Rowan's head as he slowly slugged through his brain and began to recognize the people around him. Gavriel's pity wince was enough to send him growling. The lion had seen the effects of submitting to the animal once and was currently seeing it again. Elide was gazing up at Rowan's face with an expression half between a flinch and curiosity. Lorcan, behind Elide, was shifting his gaze between Elide's dark head and Rowan's green eyes.

Rowan, ignoring all the stares and questions, only addressed Elide.

"How far are we?"

"It's about a quarter mile up that hill there," she pointed," But – Rowan!" Elide called out as he began to turn away from her and continue through the mass of firs native to Wendlyn. The girl that had once hobbled and, grateful despite the murderous glances she continued to give Lorcan, reached up to lay a hand on his broad shoulder. It was a frail looking thing, placed so gently as if she was soothing a rabid animal. Perhaps she was.

" _What?"_ Rowan twirled around, eyes flashing. He was so close. He could feel her. It was a zany feeling, the bond. It seemed to ground him and connect him to her in a deeper sense than their original blood oath. Throughout all these weeks and months, however long it had been since he'd last looked into her Ashryver eyes and felt those full lips on his, the bond shimmied and stretched like a toddler trying to walk. It was new, it was different, unlike anything he had ever felt before. Different from when he had been with Lyria. When he had thought Lyria was his mate. That in itself was truly decapitating. Rowan had taken to blocking out all unnecessary information, only focusing on what could aid him in his search.

He could feel the bond strengthen where it had become weakened, almost like a thin thread that was slowly being woven into a rope, or a tether. It absorbed his attention; he was fixated by the feelings that were not his own suddenly pop up. It made him feel closer to her, made him feel the pain she was feeling every time fear or wariness exploded in her mind and she unknowingly sent it through their connection. He tried to send thoughts or feelings down as well, feelings of love or safeness or just plain laughter.

He had no clue if she'd felt his efforts or not.

Elide mutely stepped back and looked to one of the fae behind her for assistance.

"Brother, you need to-"

"We are not brothers, Gavriel." Rowan knew it was harsh, but it was true. Gavriel nodded painfully, the memory of being released from Maeve's oath so dishonorably still fresh in his mind, even after the months that had gone by.

"Not by blood or oath, but by history, Rowan. I know, by the Gods, we _realize_ you need to find her. We-"

"You don't know what it's like," Rowan snarled at him, elongated fangs beginning to show. Lorcan held his hand up to silence him, his face a mask of blankness.

"Rowan. Stop this. We are helping you. Be grateful."

"Be grateful? I have not been able to _be_ anything since she was fucking _taken_ from me. She was locked into a cage of iron. _Iron._ With bloody Cairn of all the sadistic, cruel, _fucking_ bastards in the entire _fucking_ land. So don't _you_ fucking _dare_ tell me to be grateful for _any_ of this _shit_." In a flash of light and a change of skin, a white-tailed hawk replaced the deadly, hysterical fae male.

The two fae males looked at each other before sharing a look with Elide. He ignored them, ignored the flashes of concern for his wellbeing. He just wanted his heart.

Rowan was going to storm the fort without any plan. Simply barge in and take her.

They were fools to follow him.

But Lorcan still had to redeem himself, Gavriel still needed to prove that he had honor, and Elide was still following Lorcan, even though her mind denied it.

And they were still utter and complete fools.

Rowan

The first hand – the signal to Lorcan – was far too easy to raise. Three throwing knives simultaneously sailed through the air and hit three fae guards. Each struck their target so effortlessly. Blood pooled from their temples, like a waterfall of blood that seeped down the ivy etched cobblestone of the fort.

The second hand – to signal all of them – was elevated by the time the bodies hit the dirt below.

One by one, sometimes two by two, each sentinel was struck down by axe, knife, or claw. The four of them were quick and efficient, smothering each cry of their victims as to not notify others of their presence. It was like a tsunami; a wave of silence hit the fort.

Fort, not castle. Maeve was too smart to dangle Aelin in front of their noses by storing her in Doranelle, where too many fae still rebelled. No, it had to be a fort in the middle of Wendlyn. In the middle of nowhere. Maeve was still dangling the bait. A fort was too inconspicuous for Maeve, she had to have something else up her sleeve. Too few guards. Too few defenses.

Silence continued to reign unopposed.

Elide

It was by the time the group reached the small cells dug into the foundation that the scent of blood began to cloy their senses. The floor was slick with the red, and sometimes blue, life that seeped its way into every crack and scratch. Cobwebs painted each corner white, and the torches along the wall, held by the sconces with a metal owl head, cast the shadows of the sticks but not the fire. The place had an overall bad feeling to it; Elide had never seen so much gore in her life. The two fae males and lion that crowded the narrow hallway looked uninterested, though she noticed how each of their eyes continued to shift from spot to spot, finding nothing but carnage. Even seasoned fae males could find something too violent. The thought struck a strange nerve in her. And, even though her mind whispered a warning to her body and her heart, she sidled closer to Lorcan's side.

Whispers seemed to ooze out of the thick walls and the rattling of prison bars was enough to put her even more on edge – as if she wasn't already.

They, Rowan, Lorcan, Gavriel, and herself, had trespassed Maeve's territory and _killed_ so many to find Terrasen's true queen. The vagrant they had gleaned the location of the fort off of had _not_ , as the males so desperately tried to explain to her, sacrificed himself for a queen he barely knew. Even though Gavriel had taken her far away from them and deep into the forest under the cover of teaching her more offensive moves, she had heard the shrill, piercing screams of the man.

So many had died.

She simply hoped that it was worth it. Elide hoped that her queen was not too broken already. She had seen the confinements that they had forced Aelin into, that horrid _iron_ mask and box. She had seen the splattered blood on the sand after Cairn had whipped her. She had heard the _crack_ in the air as Cairn brought the whip through the air. Elide could not survive what Aelin had already, with cast-iron certainty, went through. But Aelin was stronger than Elide, had been through more. Yet, at least Aelin had seen the sun. No matter where she went. At least she had had that. She shuddered and earned a look from Lorcan who gently gripped her elbow and steered her farther into the pits of Hell. The touch burned her skin, making her feel protected yet on edge at the same time.

They decimated all in their path, and wet the already blood sprayed walls with more. It was when Lorcan thrashed one of his ornate axes into the side of a blonde fae's head and had nearly trekked on when Elide called out for them to stop.

She could barely make it out, it was more of a ricochet if anything, but it was there. A faint hum, fragmented and shattered, that told her that the person they were looking for was here. The riffs and the quiet soprano accompanied by the low, guttural bass was unmistakable. It was an old Terrasen nursery rhyme that was being repeated over and over again, almost like mantra. She could feel the reminder, deep in her blood.

A small memory emerged, hazy and ever-fading, of her mother singing her the very same tune. It had been a cold night where thunder raged like an angry bull. Her mother had come in and sang to her the same tune, albeit stronger and filled with more… feeling and love than the version she heard now. The song, now, felt empty, colorless. She put her hand on Rowan's shoulder for the second time that night and tapped her ear, signaling him to listen.

Rowan's eyes went wide and he started to move in the direction of the melody. She could see the black of his pupils spread over his green irises. He was so close to her, yet he still couldn't seem to find her. Elide could feel his want and longing and _rage_.

Rowan

He was so damn close. The song… it was so familiar to him for some reason. He had never heard it before in his entire lifetime, but it quickened his pulse and reassured him, like the sun on a winter's day. He began to speed up; he took long, full strides to reach his destination.

The dungeons in the fort were placed in a confusing manner, as if to stop any prisoner from escaping. A run-away would never find their way out of the endless maze of cobblestone and blood. Not in the dark, not with the only lighting being the poor and rare fire of the torches that scaled the walls. His gait quickened into a run as the song grew louder and more apparent. The walls moved around him and his group hurried to catch up with him, Lorcan grabbing Elide's hand to keep her from being left behind.

When he reached it, all he could see was the rusted iron of the cell bars and darkness beyond. But he could hear the source of the melody. It was broken and messy, disturbed by nasally inhales of breath and hacking coughs. His fae senses kicked in and his sight sharpened to make out a dark figure, huddled in a corner, surrounded in shadows. Held and captured by darkness. The figure was audibly shaking and rocking back and forth, head between legs.

The smell was… distorted. The normal aroma of spice and embers was now mixed with the iron of blood and salt. The scent bunged his nose and burned his eyes. Elide loosened a breath and stumbled over to the bars, her lips silently moving with the tune.

"A-aelin?" Elide stuttered, only to be met with silence. The broken song stopped completely. Rowan lurched forward and pressed his face to the rusty bars, uncaring of the sting the metal gave him.

"Aelin?" No, not silent. Sobs, messy and uneven, could be heard from the figure in the corner. Ice crept up the bars and latched onto the lock. Hoarfrost absorbed the lock and there was a near silent _crack_ as iron pieces fell to the cobblestones below. The cell door silently gave way to them and they entered, all of them aware of the loud screech the metal gave as the rusted bars were pushed against. How long had she been in here? Somewhere in his mind, he was still repeating that this was too easy and that Maeve would never allow them to invade her ground this effortlessly.

But he ignored those thoughts and stepped closer to the bare, shivering form. The meager lighting from the lone torch outside the cell cut through the middle of the cell, leaving the two sides covered in darkness. But Rowan knelt down before the figure and gently lifted her head.

What was once golden blonde hair had become dry and parched. Red and black blotches covered the skin, the woman looking nothing like the one he had so desperately remembered. A wisp, a shadow of the sun. The pale mass of long, untrimmed hair stuck to the leg's clammy sweat. When he laid a hand upon her forehead, he swore. She was shivering, but she was burning up.

So broken. So fragile.

Dead eyes, stolen of their former glory, stared back at him. A long, ugly burn mark stretched from one elongated ear and over the nose's bridge to the other.

The remnants of the mask.

One eye was bunched up and purple while the other had a curled carving prolonging the outside corner of the eye. They had played with her, taunted her. The naked form he saw now was nothing but a shell to hold the already once wrecked mind. He took her head in his hands and cupped each cheek, putting his forehead to hers. Aelin whimpered and a single tear escaped his eye.

He had found her.

Quickly, yet ever so tenderly, he put his mouth on hers, searching for that comfort that he had sought and found her all too willing to give him it, even trying to demand some for herself. But when her lips parted and his tounge raced in to tangle with hers he was met with…

Nothing.

Nothing but a stump and the scab that covered the top of it. Startled, he pulled back and stared to find some scrap of an answer but found naught but dull, joyless eyes that had once been burning with fire.

 _The bitch had cut off her tounge._

He would enjoy killing Maeve slowly, first cutting every piece of her she could live without off then moving on to some of the more needed organs. He would make Maeve drown in her own blood. He would –

"Well, _Rowan_. I have to say I'm a bit surprised you hadn't found this place sooner," the cold voice spread over every corner of the cell, "such a beauty, isn't it? There's something so… enthralling about seeing the shift from something once so defiant and full of life to, well, this you see in front of you." Aelin stiffened and whined, pushing herself farther into her corner, making herself smaller. Rowan growled. His group was nowhere in sight, presumably hiding from the tormentor in front of him. He thought he caught smooth movement in the corner but it disappeared as quickly as it appeared.

"You _bitch-"_

"I simply tamed a wild beast. She's so much like you, Rowan. She would never admit defeat, but slowly, _slowly_ I crawled into her mind. Fear can do so many things. Unfortunately, Cairn was... apprehended, so I did much of the damage myself. Fenrys also helped, mind you. Him and Aelin had some _simply wonderful_ nights before he begged her to shove a knife through his chest. I believe the knife is somewhere around here…" A large sob escaped Aelin and Maeve moved her eyes towards her small form.

"On some level, I admire your mate. So strong in the face of adversary. So cunning. Imagine my wrath, when I found the wyrdkeys not on her body. Or the lock, for that matter."

 _He would burn her._

"I was furious," Maeve's lips played up into a smirk. "It was endear-" A roar sounded from behind Maeve, from the corner Rowan had caught movement in, as the Lion jumped out of the shadows, the faint light of the torch dancing in Gavriel's eyes. Claws were out, ready to strike their mark. Maeve herself howled as she whipped around and cocked her head at the beast.

"Well, well. The princeling has banded together the misfits. How charm-"

Perhaps it was just, that not him, not Aelin, not Gavriel, had been the one to do it. Perhaps it was better that someone with no relation to the fae queen, no relation to fae in general, was to be the one to omit the bitch. Maeve would've expected them to come at her, Maeve would've seen and slaughtered them before they could raise so much as a finger against her. But Maeve never would have guessed, never would have _considered_ that someone, so puny, so undistinguished in the world, would be the one to plunge a knife into her back.

Maeve never got to finish her sentence; for small, sneaky Elide had managed to crawl into the cell, unnoticed by all of them, and thrust a small rusty iron knife into the fae queen's lower spine. Maeve let out a wail and collapsed to the floor, spewing threats at all of them before Elide moved in on her again.

And again.

And again, until angry red welts patterned the queen's body. Black, not red, bubbled up from the wounds. Elide looked up at them all.

"Is she permanently dead or is there something to make her even more dead than she already is?" Elide ground out, her eyes angry. Gavriel, still in his shifted form, noiselessly stepped forward and slashed at Maeve's neck, dismembering her from her head before raking his claws in her body. The Lion seemed agitated at something and growled before Elide lay a soothing hand on his mane and stroked it.

"Maeve did not deserve the satisfaction of thinking that she was worth our time to torture. The Dark God will deal with her as he sees fit." Her words were the voice of reasoning, even Lorcan looked impressed. But Rowan saw her clenched and white knuckles on the knife and the uneasy gaze she sent Aelin.

"Is she going to be okay?" Elide asked, inching towards her. Rowan shook his head.

"I don't know." Lorcan winced. Rowan flicked his eyes towards the bastard-born demi-fae.

"This is your doing," Rowan said, low and gruff. Lorcan nodded and lowered his eyes, choosing the floor over the death promise in Rowan's green eyes. He felt a bottomless pit of rage in his gut, where his magic rested. Power fueled by rage. That was never healthy.

Lorcan raised his eyes once again to meet Aelin's, seemingly making a decision in a small moment.

Aelin gazed at Lorcan with her dead eyes and frowned. Shook her head, even. When they had ceased their silent conversation, Rowan couldn't help but feel left out of the context. What was Aelin not liking? She took a breath and went on her hands and knees to crawl forward to Lorcan. He met her in the middle and held out a palm for her to grasp. Lorcan crouched down and took her small, frail looking hand in his and sighed.

"Those bastard-born, we are all nameless," was all he said before screwing his eyes shut and running a blade over her palm so Mala's blood spilled freely and mixed with his own on the floor. Lorcan visibly tensed as Aelin caressed his cheek with her hand.

"She would've never forgiven me. Show me how it's done," Lorcan replied in the same volume. Aelin silently grasped the hilt of the seemingly ceremonial knife and traced the veins on Lorcan's arms. Blood ran down them like vines. She then kneaded both her hands together as to spread _her_ blood and rubbed his arms, covering them. Gavriel had shifted back into his fae form as the two demi-fae huddled together on the floor and had slipped over to Rowan.

"Even the Gods can be fooled," Gavriel whispered as Lorcan grasped Aelin's chin and smirked.

"One last deception, just to piss them off," Lorcan muttered and Aelin smiled grimly before kissing Lorcan's forehead in thanks. She then pulled away from him, towards Rowan. She clambered over to him, scooting herself backwards. Her ripped leg pant was soaked in blood, still wet. Instead of accepting his hand to pull her up, she slid across the cold floor and grasped Rowan's leg to cling on to him. Smiling with pure relief and rawness, he pulled her up into his arms and drew her legs around his waist so he hugged her and melded them into one person, lending his strength to her broken self. She melted into him, trusting him to guide her movements.

Absolute silence followed. And then the Gods came to seek what was promised.

Light began to trace the rifts in the stone, defining the fissures and gaps as it gradually crawled towards Lorcan who was bathed in Aelin's blood. It looked as though slivers of silver starlight were slithering towards him.

It suddenly all made sense to him. Lorcan's mood the days before, of trying to cut all ties, distancing himself from Elide as she, unknowingly, continued to press herself towards him. An eye for an eye. Lorcan felt, as he rightly should, that he had taken Aelin's life from her. So to repay the debt to the Heir of Fire, he had remembered that he was a bastard.

And nameless were those who were labelled bastard.

Lorcan would sacrifice himself so Aelin wouldn't have to give more than she was willing to give to a kingdom she had bled time and time again for.

Ever since Aelin had been taken from him, gratitude showed in Rowan's eyes, directed at Lorcan.

Rowan didn't know how this would work, but he had faith in Aelin and years of following Lorcan made him put some faith in the demi-fae as well. The luminescence inched forward slowly before reaching Lorcan's skin. When contact was made, he howled. Aelin buried her head in Rowan's neck, whimpering at the sound. Rowan put a hand on her head and ran it through her hair, muttering nonsense to her in Fae as if he was soothing a child. She quieted but still trembled.

Light engulfed Lorcan's body, but another sliver, a darker color, slashed through the brightness. The Dark God still claimed Lorcan as his own. The ground drank in the demi-fae; he sunk into the ground as if quicksand were under him. Lorcan moaned as he melted and his fluids seeped into the stone. Elide's eyes were wide and her hand flew over her mouth before screaming into her hand.

Another heart, broken and dead.

All of the darkness in the cramped cell focused on the epicenter that had once been where Lorcan crouched before bunching together, taking shape. A small pyramid, about a hands height, formed. The shape was covered in etchings that were parallel to the designs of the three wyrdkeys that roamed the wolrd, all three of them in their possession. The lock.

It had worked.

Holy shit. The gods had been tricked.

Gavriel quickly pocketed it. He encased Elide's hand with his own before leading her out of the cell and out of the fort, though not before taking his own knife out and spelling the words out deep into Maeve's dead body.

 _CONNIVING BITCH._

Gavriel had the audacity to smile grimly with satisfaction at Meave's now ruined form. Her mouth hung slightly ajar and her eyes were still open.

Rowan left her like that.

He followed Gavriel and Elide out of the fort, Aelin asleep as she softly snored into his shoulder.

Her scent, though blood and iron masked it, was still prominent. The fire had never died. It was simply muted.

But her tounge had been cut out like a savage. Judging by the scabs he had felt when he had searched her mouth, it was only a few weeks old. Had Maeve ceased Aelin's ability to bite back when she grew tired of hearing her? Or had it been Cairn who had done the deed?

And then there was the matter of Fenrys.

It was obvious what had happened. And he knew that Aelin would not want to talk about it any time soon. She had killed him, stabbed him with a knife that Maeve had taunted her with by placing it in Aelin's cell after Fenrys had been slain. Maeve had played her game and had both won and lost.

Rowan

It was the middle of the night when he lurched out of the bed roll on the hard ground. Aelin was still sleeping fitfully beside him. She had slept the past week, exhausted. He had sent Gavriel and Elide away from them, towards Terrasen; Aelin did not need Elide's grief over Lorcan to cloud over her own suffering. Rowan couldn't blame her. He never pressured her, never asked too many questions. He was waiting patiently, as he knew she would with him. When she revisited what had happened to her, she needed to be happy and surrounded by people who she loved and who loved her.

However, there was the slight problem that with no tounge, she could perhaps not speak these happenings. He had heard of gifted fae healers who could reattach limbs, but they did not have the remnants of her tounge. Rowan had taken to reading her eyes and her body language. The bond helped as well, as they learned to communicate through it, her whispering into his mind as he answered her back. She never opened her mouth, but he had asked her once and her eyes had shown panic.

He had reassured her, at the time, that everything would be done at her pace. He couldn't help but imagine a life without Aelin verbally saying that he was a territorial fae bastard. He missed the sound of her voice.

But he had not woken from her violent mutterings, but from the glowing figure that had reached over to jolt him awake. The figure placed a finger on her lips as he opened his mouth to demand who the hell she was. She crouched beside Aelin and tentatively leaned her own face down to kiss Aelin lightly on the lips before pulling her head back with a smile. She looked over at Rowan and tapped her lips twice.

Rowan nodded in thanks at Elena as she melted into the night.

Rowan

Aelin was splashing in the plunge pool, naked as a newborn and laughing as she swirled and twisted around. Rowan sat on a warm rock on the edge of the pool and watched her begin to rekindle. Her eyes were still partially empty, but she had ever so quietly begun to speak again after the events of the night Elena had appeared and given Aelin her joy of communication back. But Aelin's body… Rowan had taken to sitting with Aelin every night before the fire as they made their way back to Terrasen and sending his healing affinity towards her. She grudgingly accepted, but the scars that marked her body… it was worse than his. That was saying a great deal. Maeve and Cairn had mutilated the flesh on her back, the whip marks red and angry as he continued to dig up fragments of salt. The tattoo that had once covered her back, the tattoo that _he_ had given her, was gone. Lashes and welts covered it, while the curled engraving from her eye had yet to heal. The bruises had begun to fade, and the broken ankle he had discovered was gone completely. The scars on her leg seemed to diminish as the days went by and Rowan's magic invaded them.

But the scars on her face… they refused to go.

The crystal clear water sparkled in the sun's light as Aelin distorted the calmness by making her own noise and chaos. Rowan laughed along with her, the sound so light that it cut deep into his heart.

"You coming, Prince?" Aelin taunted, her former arrogant spark returning ever so slightly as she gulped and smiled at him with mirth in her Ashryver eyes. Rowan rolled his eyes and was about strip himself of his clothes when a water droplet rushed towards him and splashed on his face. He looked sharply and glared at the devious woman in front of him.

"Your magic, Aelin-" He was drowned by the bucket of water that fell on his head. Aelin hooted and was beginning to gasp for air, tears streaming down her face.

"Oh, you're going to get it now," Rowan warned and lunged. They played like that for what seemed like hours, her twisting away as he jumped after her. When he finally did catch up to her, he pushed her through the water and onto the bank. Rowan hovered just above her before turning in the luscious grass and hauling her on top of him. Her jollity dimmed as she gazed at him, serious and lustful, and said to him that she loved him, more than words could describe. He responded in like. 


	9. Chapter 9

**You crazy kids ready for some fluffy fluffiness?**

 **Thank you to the** _ **awesomely wonderfully fantastic**_ **guest who suggested this! You saved me amidst weeks of homework. Seriously. Salvation. Sorry for the wait though, I hope it's acceptable and lives up to your expectations!**

 **And thank you sooooooo much to the people who reviewed. I love reading the reviews. I get this little smile on my face that makes people question why I'm smiling so freakily. Thank you thank you thank you thank you! And to Skye: that's a compliment no matter which way you spin it ;). Now, enough of my rambling about the happiness I get whenever I see a review!**

 **Again, if anyone wants to send me a story idea, I would greatly appreciate it! I would hundred percent recommend doing that. I just hope that I will do you all justice. Now, with no further ado, let us begin!**

Rowan woke up to noise. Noise that marred his ears, cut into his skin and bruised his heart. The noise was raw, emotional, and unimaginably unhinged.

The problem was that it wasn't an _unfamiliar_ noise. The sound brought back memories, recollections of death and torture and pain. Unimaginable pain. His bleary eyes opened to find the bedsheets twisted and turned over, the mattress heated as the sweaty body next to him wriggled and lashed, coiling around. Groans and whimpers were audible from her mouth as she twisted violently. He caught murmurings, and damn him for not waking her up immediately, but didn't hear what she was saying. Fragments like 'too dark', and 'no light' were the only thing to be heard, and the occasional 'not again'. Rowan winced before reaching a calloused hand over and gently placing it on her cheek. Her body immediately stilled, but her eyes remained screwed shut.

"Aelin," he whispered into her ear. "Aelin, wake up." She refused. The murmuring became louder until she began whimpering with tears streaming out of her eyes. It seemed she was possessed; her dream took over her body so that she was no longer there, but in her place a furious, chilling spirit that continued to terrify him more with each passing second, with each forceful jolt.

But she still would not wake up. He shouted her name, trying _desperately_ to reach down that bond, the bond that had formed not weeks ago… He pulled on it, jerked it so he could wrench her from whatever in the Gods' names she was experiencing…

Her eyes lurched open and her chest heaved, the panting desperate as she disregarded the worried look on his face and frantically crawled off the bed on all fours. The tan shirt, a shirt he realized as _his_ , clung to her body, sweat dampening the fabric.

Aelin reached the center of the room and folded into herself, grasping her knees and rocking back and forth. She was but a shadowed shape, alone, surrounded by darkness.

Rowan watched as she tried to block out the entire world and regroup herself, the torrential downpour of the rain on the windows the only sound besides her quiet sobs. Rowan took a deep breath and continued to stare at the huddled form in front of him. He was on unsure footing. Again.

She had been like this since the Valg attack on Mistward. Despite her outward acceptance of both her past and her coming future, her inner self still had contradicting sides. She had woken up, shaking and sweating, some nights but had fallen to rest soon after, albeit twitchily. She shouted profanities that would make even a sailor wince and she sometimes would open the window to breathe in the night air, but never, never, had she been afraid of the dark.

This time was different, but the way she dexterously nearly leapt out of the bed and huddled herself together, trying to calm herself down, gave him reason to believe that this was not the first of _these_ nightmares she had experienced. It was simply the first _he_ had seen.

He gently slid out of the bed and inaudibly padded over to her. Crouching, he laid a hand atop her head and pulled it back, revealing red, puffy eyes and a quivering mouth. Her golden head lay limp as the darkness in her mind went unbridled. She sniffed and gulped, then buried her head back into her body, like a coyote padding back into its cave when wolves were about. He sighed and leaned back onto his heels. Keeping his eyes on her, he summoned the air seeping in from the window and weaved it, freezing and fashioning it so it looked like a candle. He kneeled so he faced her and set the unlit candle in front of her. Rowan grasped her hand and guided it so it was not a hand's length from the wick. She looked up at the movement.

"Theatrics," he murmured and looked up at her expectantly. Without warning, all the candles in the room ignited with a blue flame. He looked back down at his ice candle saw a yellow flame, satisfied with the fact that his candle still stood frozen despite the flame that lit the top.

Aelin stopped shivering and considered his pine eyes, smiling weakly at his insistent gaze.

 _Sorry for waking you._ She seemed to say, looking up at him through eyelashes clumped with tears. There were no teasing words, no sarcasm, merely those bright turquoise eyes with golden rings around the pupils and the strange shame that littered them. She was ashamed to be in front of him, in this state, still frightened by past happenings. Happenings that she notoriously downplayed time and time again.

"No," Rowan growled. At his tone, she looked up quickly, still watching his eyes with that abashed expression. He gripped her face with his hands, his index fingers falling on the bone behind the elongated ears that graced her appearance. "You will _never_ be ashamed in front of me. _I_ am not ashamed of you." She sniffed and, before he could blink, threw herself at him. He held her, clutching the back of her head that leaned on his tattooed shoulder. He took a long breath of her spicy scent before standing up and, taking her with him, walking over to the bed where he set her down.

Rowan stood up from the bed, still having eye contact with Aelin, and took his time blowing every candle out. And when he was finished, he climbed back into bed and curled his large form around Aelin's small body. It began with a whimpering escape of breath, then a louder exhale, and finally a sob. He pulled Aelin's form on top of his and held her there, arms wrapped around her as she curled into a ball and shook. When she had quieted down, she slanted her head to look up at him. She audibly and visibly grimaced and gulped at the question written in his eyes. She tried to look back down but he tilted her head back up with his thumb.

"Aelin," he warned and she winced.

"I-it was Endovier. Those rooms, deep in the mines, where no light entered…" she became lost in thought.

"Too dark," Rowan muttered. Aelin flicked her eyes back up at him.

 _What?_

 _Too dark. That's what you said. Before you woke up._

"Oh."

"And that there was no light, and 'not again'." She flinched.

"I wasn't the exact description of a rule-follower. The first time was after I reached the wall, killing a great deal of the soldiers stationed there. Lashes and darkness. I was just so… lost after that day. I can't get the feeling out of my head, the emptiness I felt after that day. It was like a bubble, clouding and expanding until it pushed my thoughts, _myself,_ out of the boundaries.The thought of not being able to see my own hands in front of me, to not be able to see the blood I could feel pouring from my back." She buried her head into his chest.

"There was a brutal commander I once served under, ruthless but extremely effective and renowned. He ran his war camp viciously, whipping and punishing those who defied and challenged him. One night, myself and some of the soldiers I served over were drinking and playing cards before the night of a battle. We spoke unrestrained, where a soldier said his brother was locked into a cellar once after challenging the commander. We must have been exceptionally inebriated to not realize that the commander was watching us. We were sentenced to six lashes each with a spiked whip," Rowan said, leaning his head back and looking up at the ceiling. "He tugged a young fae girl out of his tent afterwards, naked as the day she was born. She was sobbing, her body ripe with bruises. I only remember feeling angry, so angry at the male. My sense… clouded. I lost control, and when I came to, my soldiers were holding me back, the commander little more than shards of ice on the ground."

"Did you win the battle?" Aelin asked curiously. He nodded.

"We did. But weeks after, I still woke up with the same feeling. The feeling where _you_ weren't one living. That pure output of anger, you described it as emptiness, that misted the senses. It was around the time I spotted Lyria. When she died, those feelings came back, but in the form of your emptiness. You called it being lost. I would wake up and simply _survive,_ giving in to the hawk." She shivered, though his words seem to resonate within her and she propped herself up to kiss his cheek. He froze and she smiled unabashed at him, that glowing smirk reweaving itself into her eyes.

 _It seems we both are prey to brash anger, Prince._

 _It would seem so. My restraint has been honed through the years. Yours still seems be wild and uncontrolled._

They both chuckled and she laid her head back onto his chest, placing her hand on his heart. Restraint be damned, he placed his hand low on her spine and tugged her closer to him. They fell asleep to the sound of rain and breaths.


End file.
